Journey To Glory
by purplebowties
Summary: During their honeymoon, travelling, Chuck and Blair explore their relationship and start envisioning their future.
1. Prologue - Part 1

Hello to all my faithful readers! I'm back with a multi-chapter fanfiction about Chuck and Blair's honeymoon. My idea is to describe Chuck and Blair's journey: travelling, they'll explore their relationship and they'll start building their future. After the two parts prologue, each chapter will have a different location and will try to explore the dynamics of our beloved couple - where they are in this very moment and the direction they want their life together to take. This will be a very introspective story; I won't treat the thematic of the honeymoon in a traditionally romantic way, for I feel that this specific moment of their lives is, due to the circumstances, a complicated one. I hope you'll enjoy my take on the topic. Enjoy your reading! - Cris

* * *

 **Prologue - Part 1**

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" _We both know the history of violence that surrounds you,_

 _but I'm not scared; there's nothing to lose now that I've found you."_ **[1]**

* * *

 **New York City, December 13th, 2012**

Chuck was staring at her. Even through the haziness of the limbo between the unconsciousness of sleep and the clearness of wakefulness, Blair could still sense his gaze lingering on her, immobile and piercing. A weightless entity, it embraced her with the warmth of its steadiness and, at the same time, roused her senses, giving her the impellent need to open her eyes.

Under the spell of that urgency, her hand made an almost imperceptible movement; her fingers curled slightly around the silk sheet covering her and then stretched in a faint shudder, longing for the touch of his. The craved contact came in a moment. Swift and needful, Chuck's palm cupped the back of her hand and gave it a gentle squeeze. Blair's eyelids stayed shut, as a thin smile rose to her lips at the caress of his thumb skimming over her skin. Slowly, she waved her fingers together with his and squeezed back.

Chuck's body shifted; though his hand remained tightly laced to hers, she felt him leaning in towards her and sliding his arm under her back in a possessive embrace. An instant was all it took for his lips to brush over her forehead and kiss it.

"Good morning, Mrs. Bass," he whispered, and she distinguished a hint of satisfaction in his low and hoarse voice when he pronounced her newly acquired name.

She was Mrs. Bass. The realization came to Blair with an irrepressible rush of excitement, and, when she finally opened her eyes, the sight of Chuck gave her the most reassuring feeling of belonging; for he was there, towering over her with the strength of his arms, gazing at her with the deep darkness of his eyes. He was there, in her room; safe, alive, bonded to her by the eternal tie of marriage.

A bright grin stretched her mouth as she guided her free hand to his chest. "We're married," she uttered with a sigh of joy and relief.

Chuck smiled – a true, open smile, one of those that were rarities she had learnt to treasure. He let go of her hand still resting on the sheet to reach for the one she had placed above his heart. He clasped it and lifted it in an eager, rapid movement. His eyes closed when, kissing it, he sensed the cold metal of her wedding band pressed against his lips.

A new smile, this time more discrete and intimate, accompanied the deep breath he took before replying: "Yes, we are."

Blair let him toy with her fingers for a few seconds before freeing her hand from the tender grip of his. She moved cautiously in his hold and, with a bit of effort, she managed to sit up. Every single muscle of her body was aching from the exhaustion of the previous day and from the physically draining night they had spent together.

After months of separation, giving in to the impellent need to make love had been inevitable. The passion and the necessity of feeling completely fused, their bodies and souls blurring into a whole with every spasm of their so long neglected lust, had been imperatives stronger than weariness, shock and fear.

The lovemaking had been the most instinctual and immediate answer to a crying need to sense the reality of their new condition and the excitement of survival; to bury the ghost of death, of loss and pain. It had been greedy, overwhelming, even desperate; an uncontrollable blast of emotions, a thirst for the relief of being alone in each other's arms, a tangle of vital necessity and desire.

Blair had enjoyed every instant of it; each palpitation, each tension, each time her nails had scratched his skin and been like and awakening, a rebirth.

"How long have you been staring at me?" she asked Chuck, as she leaned her back against the headboard.

Chuck settled himself next to her. "Since you fell asleep," he answered with a faint smirk.

For the first time since she had opened her eyes, Blair's attention was drawn by his expression. She focused on it attentively, trying to decipher it. The blend of emotions she could read on his face was the pure essence of contradiction; the joy his eyes were full of had something fierce and obscure about it that made it look delirious rather than serene. The sly smile he had given her trembled with tension. A glow of pride gifted his face with the brightness of fulfillment, and yet he was pale, weak and visibly worn out. He seemed to be, at the same time, absolutely ecstatic and irremediably broken.

With a sigh, Blair guided her hand to his cheek. Running her fingers along his jaw in a deliberate stroke, she looked at him lovingly. "That was around dawn," she commented as a tender, caring smile curled her lips. "You didn't sleep at all."

The sweet concern of her tone forced him to glance down. When he looked up again, though, his smirk had gained a certain confidence. "I couldn't stop looking at my _wife_ ," he stated, wrapping an arm around her shoulders.

Calling her his wife, Chuck's voice had quivered with a hint of surprise. It was a tacit claim of insecurity; a moment of disbelief in front of the fact that she had accepted to wave their lives together with the promise of indissolubility. Incredulous and delighted, his eyes locked with hers for a long moment, before, pulling her closer, he ducked his head and buried his nose into her hair.

He breathed her in in such a needful way, yearning for her scent as if he depended on it, that Blair felt tears piercing her eyes. The shadow of the events that had led to their marriage weighted over him in a way he wouldn't have allowed himself to feel.

But she did. Inevitably, the pain Chuck couldn't concede himself to acknowledge, echoed and pounded in her heart as if it belonged to her.

He was instinctually longing for her comfort; the way he clung to her was an unconscious demand, the response to a rejected anguish. The happiness of being married to her, the reassurance coming from the certainness she would have never left him, was the only feeling he was permitting himself to process. He was building a tower of denial around himself, around the joy of their unbreakable union, one that didn't let any other emotion touch him; though they showed clearly through his gestures and his expression, they were excluded from his conscience.

Blair pursed her lips and closed her eyes to hold back the tears. She couldn't take the comfort of that partial detachment from reality away from him without shattering him into pieces. Chuck needed it. He needed to escape the cruelty of the truth; he deserved, for once, the possibility of feeling nothing but bliss.

She would have done anything to postpone the moment the realization of what had happened and the cold awareness would have come. She had to protect him and his estrangement as one should protect the innocence of a child; it had to be cherished because of the briefness of its nature.

So she inhaled a deep breath and relaxed her lips into a delicate smile that was, most of all, the sign of her determination. She slid her fingers along his jaw down to his chin and pushed it up gently to make him raise his head and look at her. When he did, she shot him a mischievous glance. "I married a voyeur," she joked. "I should be outraged by your perversion, but, truthfully, I'm not."

Chuck let out a relieved chortle. She saw his expression softening as he realized the changing in her attitude. He leaned in and rested his forehead against hers before kissing her. "I know it must sound rather unbelievable coming for me," he smirked against her lips, "but I can assure you that my staring at you has been perfectly innocent."

Blair eyed him. "Oh, is that so?" she raised a skeptical eyebrow at him. "It's hard to envision your 'perfectly innocent' thoughts, considering that this light sheet is the only obstacle between you and my naked body."

"You underestimate my self-control, Blair," Chuck replied.

Blair giggled. "I do not," she retorted. "For the simple fact that it's impossible to underestimate something that doesn't exist."

Chuck tightened his hold on her. His fingers dipped into her shoulder, pulling her down. Blair didn't resist to the insistence of his movement; she abandoned herself to the pressure of his hand and let her head fall on his lap. She smiled once again at his smirk and at the complacent twinkle in his eyes.

"You seem to have a quite despicable opinion about your husband," Chuck started stroking her hair slowly. "Should I be offended, Mrs. Bass?"

Blair sighed. "You shouldn't," she said. "If anything, you should feel flattered."

He laughed. There was something about the sound of his laughter that warmed her heart in an unexplainable way; it was the sound of the power she had on his serenity, of the influence she had on him, of her ability to protect him from the darkness of his mind.

Blair lifted her arm and brought her hand to his cheek once again. "Tell me about your candid thoughts, Chuck Bass," she said in a dreamy voice.

Chuck cupped her hand with his and welcomed it into his grip. "I made a plan for us," he told her, his fingers tracing faint circles over her palm. "A plan to concede ourselves a well-deserved escape."

Blair's eyes widened with interest. "Are you taking me on a honeymoon?"

Looking down at her, Chuck gave her a secretive glance before leaning over towards her. "Better," he said, curling his mouth in as sly smile, when their faces were only separated by an inch. "I'm taking you to the Old World and giving you a taste of my design for our life together."

Biting her lip, Blair laced her arms around his neck. "Let me guess," she wondered. "Europe; a tour through opulence and art –"

Chuck interrupted her with a sudden, deep kiss. Blair's eyes closed as his fingers slid through her hair and grasped the strands in a rush of possessiveness. "And monarchy," he whispered when their lips parted. "Us," he stated, "embracing our fate."

It was a breath of fresh air, Blair thought. The chance to take a break from everything that was wrong and painful in their life, a parenthesis of pure glory and untouched enchantment that they both craved. And though she could grasp the subtle denial in his plan, though she understood that the way he had envisioned it in his mind was fantastic to the point of skimming over an illusion, she couldn't help but indulging that desire. He needed it and she did too.

"A glorious fate," she said in a murmur. "A glorious future."

She sealed that statement with a sudden blast of passion, conveying her enthusiasm and her intention to immerge herself into the experience Chuck had imagined for them by switching their positions in an abrupt movement. In a moment, she was on top of him; the sheet covering her fell along her sides, leaving no barriers between him and her body.

Chuck stared at her with eyes full of admiration and she knew, from the loving shimmer sparkling in his eyes, that the utter devotion she could sense from his expression and from his touches, was, most of all, commitment to her soul, to her strength, to her empathy.

His hands clasped her waist immediately. "Glorious," he echoed her, leaving her with the feeling that, more than their projects, it was her that he considered glorious.

* * *

Blair pulled the damask curtains slightly aside to peep out of the window and released a sharp sigh of frustration at the sight of the group of reporters still crowding the sidewalk. They had been lurking in front of the building since she and Chuck had come back from the police station the day before and they didn't seem to have any intention to leave.

Caught by a sudden surge of anger, she pursed her lips as her fingers curled tight around the smooth fabric of the curtain. It wasn't mainly the invasion of their privacy that bothered her, or even being in the eye of the storm; she was prepared for it, she had accepted that condition the moment she had promised Chuck and herself that she was going to stand by his side through anything – and it had happened a long time ago, far before she had accepted to become his wife.

What made her flare up was, most of all, the absolute consciousness of the many ways this situation could have hurt him. She was entirely aware of the impact the constant reminder of his father's death could have had on him, especially because he couldn't acknowledge it – the fact itself and everything that revolved around it: the way it had happened, the reason it had, the consequences.

Only twenty minutes before, when he had left her penthouse to go meet Lily, Blair had watched Chuck making his way through that throng of vultures with her heart heavy and constricted by irrepressible concern. That inevitable anxiety was still gripping her. There was a persistent and disturbing thought in her mind; a voice telling her that he was safe only when they were close, when he was under the guard of her love and fortitude. She wanted him back in her house, back in her embrace. If he was far – if she couldn't see him, touch him, talk to him –, then she couldn't protect him. She couldn't make sure that those who intended to hurt him were taken down and reduced to harmlessness; she couldn't shelter him from danger – the danger of the outside world and the danger of his own neglected feelings.

 _Overcome by this fear, Blair had clung to his coat when he had been about to leave, the grip of her hands tight around the woolen collar as if to keep him from crossing the elevator's sliding doors and disappearing from her sight. "Couldn't you ask Lily to come here?" she had asked him in a quivering, hopeful voice, bowing her head and burying it under his chin._

 _Her eyes squeezed shut and her forehead laid against his neck, she had felt his arms wrapping her and pulling her even closer. He had inhaled a deep sigh before guiding his hand to her hair. "I could, but it'd give the wrong impression, Blair," he had said resignedly. "I can't claim I'm not guilty and stay hidden here at the same time; it'd be contradictory."_

 _Blair hadn't replied. His words had sounded reasonable and, at the same time, frightening; for, as rational as they were, they hadn't left her a pretext to object and convince him to stay._

" _I wouldn't go if it wasn't necessary," Chuck had broken her silence. He stroked her hair slowly and placed a tender kiss on the top of her head. "There are things that need to be arranged before we can leave."_

 _Taking a long breath, Blair had looked up on him. The gravity of his expression, the veil of suffered maturity shading his gaze, had given her the push she needed to shake off her fear._

 _She had let the strictness of his self-awareness and sense of responsibility strengthen and inspire her. The burning desire they had to escape couldn't lead them to be careless about their future; the way they longed to be completely absorbed by each other needed to come to terms with the reality of their projects and their ambitions. Chuck had to take all of the necessary measures to protect and ensure his legacy, Blair told herself; and she had to be brave and support him._

 _With a deliberate gesture, Blair had let go of his coat and nodded. "Of course," she had said firmly, swallowing the tight lump in her throat. Under Chuck's admired look, her confidence had grown, giving her eyes a fierce twinkle that had made him smirk. "I'm sure Lily will be delighted to offer you her help."_

 _Straightening her shoulders and lifting her chin in a prideful pose, Blair had offered him a reassuring smile. "I should talk to my mother as well," she had added, sliding her hands over his chest. "If I plan to be away for weeks, she needs to be informed. She'll have to manage Waldorf Designs while I'm gone."_

 _It had stuck on her in that moment, uttering those last few words, how different their situations were. Eleanor might not always approve her choices, but she supported her anyhow; she would have never refused to help her daughter. Blair was conscious of the fact that she had reached her goals not just through her determination and hard work, but also as a result of her mother's trust in her. She had been chosen, her position was perfectly licit._

 _Chuck's success, instead, would have always been stained by the acts of violence that had led to it; he was going to take over Bass Industries with the shadow of illegitimacy darkening his competence and his talent. And if, eventually, people would have forgotten the suspects and convinced themselves he belonged to his position, Chuck wouldn't have. Not completely, at least. Part of him would have always questioned his own adequacy._

 _Her expression had inevitably saddened with that thought and she had realized Chuck had caught the slight change in her demeanor as well._

 _Shooting her a thoughtful glance, he had taken her hand and lifted it to his lips. "Don't worry about Eleanor," he had answered, interpreting her melancholy as concern. "She'll understand." He had marked his secure statement with a kiss on her palm._

 _Hearing his encouraging tone, Blair had felt the impulse to embrace him. She had wrapped her arms around his neck and squeezed him in her hug. Holding him, she had felt thankful. The attention he reserved, she had acknowledged once again, was unconditional and imperturbable; it never cracked, not even under the weight of everything that was happening in his life, for she was his priority._

" _Be safe," she had whispered in his ear. "Come back to me."_

 _Chuck had taken her chin between his fingers and moved her head slightly so that she would have been able to lock eyes with him. Meeting her gaze, he had smiled at her – a bittersweet smile, one that spoke of happiness and sorrows. "I always do, don't I?"_

 _As her eyes widened and started glistening with moved, unshed tears, Blair had put her answer in a kiss. He had always come back to her and her kiss – long, passionate, vibrant with emotion – was meant to tell him that she knew it and trusted him._

Taking a deep breath, Blair allowed the fresh recollection of his lips touching hers to alleviate her anxiety. Chuck would have soon returned and walked back into her arms. Then, together, they would have left New York and the heaviness of that situation behind them, and conceded themselves they time they needed to heal and chance to finally taste the happiness they had fought so hard and so long for.

Up until that moment, Blair decided, she was going to keep every possible source of turmoil out of the safety and the warmth of her house. Animated by that categorical decision, she closed the curtains in a firm, resolute gesture and turned her back to the window.

She checked the time on her Piaget watch and, realizing that it was almost five, she sighed. Her mother was going to be there soon, punctual as usual and ready to interrogate her about Chuck and their rushed wedding. Through the whirling chaos of the previous day, they hadn't really had the chance to talk and she was sure Eleanor had all kinds of questions to ask.

Questions Blair couldn't answer to. Other than to tell her about her plans with Chuck for the next weeks, she had invited her for tea with the purpose of explaining her the reasons why she wouldn't have been able to satisfy her desire to know. Aware that it was going to be a tough conversation, Blair went to the kitchen to make sure Dorota had prepared everything as she had demanded.

Perfectionism was usually the best way to placate Eleanor – and Blair hoped that the night spent in the Jewel suite at The Palace, the accommodation Chuck had kindly offered to her and Cyrus in order to concede himself and his bride the privacy of an empty house, had contributed to put her in an amenable mood.

"Dorota," Blair called for her maid as she crossed the double door. "Is everything settled?"

The woman, who was arranging macarons and madeleines on a sterling silver serving stand, turned and smiled at her. "Everything ready, Miss Blair," she guaranteed. "Pistachio and vanilla macarons from _Ladurée_ ," she explained, pointing at the tray's tiers, "and madeleines made by me."

Blair shot an approving look at the composition of pastries – her mother's favorites. "And what about the tea?"

Dorota promptly picked up a ceramic box from the counter, where she had put a selection of tea bags. "Mrs. Eleanor's _Dammann Frères_ tea," she said, as Blair took the small container and examined the flavors. "Dorota also took out best tea service."

Blair arched her eyebrows. "The _Baldi_ one?"

"The one Mrs. Eleanor bought in Florence," the maid confirmed with a nod.

Placing the tea bags holder back on the counter, Blair inhaled a deep breath. As she had expected, Dorota had made sure everything was impeccable. Still, as the moment of her mother's arrival got closer, she was starting to feel slightly tense at thought.

She couldn't help but asking herself if Eleanor would have understood her decision not to share any information about the truth behind Bart's death. Such an utter loyalty to Chuck could have looked like a weakness to her mother's eyes; it might have been incomprehensible to such a strong, concrete woman. And even though Blair was sure of her choice and proud of her devotion, it wasn't easy to consider the idea of being misjudged by the woman that she admired the most.

"Miss Blair, you not worry about Mrs. Eleanor," Dorota told her, offering her a sympathetic smile. "She's happy you married Mr. Chuck. She won't be upset about long trip."

Blair smiled back at her maid. "I'm not worried about that," she answered with a small head shake, taking a seat on one of the stools placed in front of the kitchen's island. "Even if she won't approve, she'll get over it. I just hope she'll understand the other thing I need to tell her."

Dorota abandoned the tea pot she had taken from the cabinet next to the sink. She came around the island and approached her employer with a tender expression showing on her face. "Your mother loves you very much, Miss Blair," she said thoughtfully, as, resting a hand on Blair's shoulder, she tucked a loosen curl behind her ear. "She is proud of you. I am too. You're not little girl anymore; you're wonderful young woman."

Touched by the caring and sincere words, Blair lowered her eyes for a moment, a discrete smile still curving her lips as she allowed her maid to give her a maternal caress on the back of her head.

Then, glancing up, she shot Dorota an amused look. "I need you to stay after dinner tonight and help me pack" she informed the woman. "We can't do it earlier. I won't have a precise list of the places we'll visit until Chuck comes back, and I'm sure it won't happen before a couple of hours."

At the words, Dorota pulled back and rolled her eyes. "Dorota knew already. Miss Blair never packs without precise information," she told Blair as she turned and made her way back to the counter. "Her head would explode."

Giggling at the statement and at how accurate it was, Blair stood up. She stepped over to where the woman was standing and patted her hand on her arm. Dorota, who was busy filling the tea pot with water, glanced at her over her shoulder. Meeting the maid's suspicious eyes, Blair smirked. "Just one more thing, Dorota," she uttered in a satisfied tone that matched her equally pleased look. "It's not 'Miss' anymore," she declared pridefully, "it's Mrs."

A vague frown crumpled Dorota's forehead. She eyed Blair for a moment and then shook her head. "Not for me," she scoffed. "You'll always be Miss Blair for Dorota."

Aware that the woman's impossibility to get used to call her any differently than she had always had conveyed a genuine affection, Blair didn't object. "I suppose I can live with that," she conceded with a deep sigh. "I'm going to wait for my mother in the living room," she said after. "Wish me luck?"

Dorota shook her head again, as her lips stretched in a reassuring smile. "You don't need luck, Miss Blair. Mrs. Eleanor is more understanding than you think."

Blair nodded slowly. "I hope so," she whispered and, with that comment, she paced out of the kitchen.

* * *

Eleanor walked out of the elevator at five pm sharp, announced by the piercing sound of her square heels shoes tapping on the foyer's marble floor.

Blair, who had been waiting for her on the living room's couch for the past five minutes, promptly stood up, before her mother had the chance to call for her. She rapidly made her way to the hall and welcomed her with a bright smile.

"Good afternoon, mother," she greeted her. She took a step towards the older woman and gave her a quick yet heartfelt hug. "Thanks for coming," she added after she had kissed her cheek.

Pulling back, Eleanor eyed her daughter attentively; her scrutinizing gaze lingered on Blair's face with the clear intention of deciphering her expression.

Under that inquisitive look, though, Blair's smile didn't stir; on the contrary it became wider and warmer, giving her a relaxed pose. It was the best way she had to make her mother feel that there was nothing to be worried about: a calm, gracious demeanor was surely easier to understand that the few words she could have pronounced to explain the situation.

Much to Blair's relief, Eleanor seemed to decide to indulge her attitude. She smiled back at her as Dorota took her fur coat. "I wasn't exactly expecting your call today, Blair," she said with a sigh, reaching out to a curl falling on Blair's shoulder and twirling it around her fingers. "But I admit I was hoping you'd ask me to come over."

Pronouncing the words, Eleanor had shot her an eloquent glance – one that made it clear that what she really hoped to get were plausible answers to her doubts.

Catching the subtext of that look, Blair shrugged. "I love to have you here, mother," she tergiversated.

Eleanor raised her eyebrows at her. "You love to have me here?" she echoed, her question tinged with surprise and a shade of irony. "This happens to be my house, Blair. Actually, I'd like to know for how long my husband and I will be exiled at the Palace."

Blair rolled her eyes. "You're staying in one of the most beautiful suites in town," she replied with vague annoyance, starting to make her way back to the living room. "It's hardly what I'd call an exile."

Following her daughter, Eleanor scoffed. "It's what Cyrus says," she wondered. " _'Give the newlyweds some space, darling! Charles was so kind to give us this amazing place to stay!'_ He's been singing Charles' praised all morning long…" She paused. Blair noticed her expression softening as she pondered over her husband's statement and the hint of a smile rising to her lips. "I guess he's right after all," she admitted then, having a long sigh as she sat down on the couch. "Charles certainly knows how to spoil his guests. He made sure I'd find a bouquet of flowers on my breakfast tray this morning."

A spontaneous, loving smile curled the corners of Blair's mouth at that information. "With a note?" she asked, lowering her eyes to conceal the tender expression now showing on her face.

Eleanor nodded. "A handwritten one with his ' _heartfelt thanks for our understanding and patience'._ It was kind of him to remember of me and Cyrus."

"Heartfelt thanks," Blair repeated absentmindedly, suffocating the abrupt emotion that had caught her in a faint chortle. "That's Chuck. Always so formal and well-mannered…" her words trailed off with a moved sigh.

That act of respect and politeness didn't touch her because it was exceptional, but because of the circumstances. Knowing that, in spite of everything, he had still managed to think of her family, filled her heart with an unexplainable sentiment; a bittersweet combination of thankfulness, sadness and empathy.

Once again, she felt the uncontrollable need to have him close to her. Her delicate smile trembled with the heartache of his unbearable absence; no matter how short it was, the distance separating her from Chuck was too much.

"Speaking of which, where is he?" Eleanor interrupted her thoughts.

Drawn by the question, Blair's attention focused on her mother. Looking back at her, she found herself sighing once more in front of the ever-growing suspect shading the woman's glance. She crossed her legs, conceding herself a moment of controlled hesitance before answering. "He had some matters to discuss with Lily," she said quietly after.

"Oh, of course," Eleanor replied right away. "The funeral."

Blair's eyes opened wide at the words. The thought hadn't crossed her mind before that moment. "No," she retorted impulsively, her heart pounding with sudden anxiety. She pursed her lips and inhaled a deep breath to compose herself. "It's not about that," she stated. "I'm not sure what Lily has planned, but I'm certain Chuck and I won't attend."

A deep frown furrowed her mother's forehead. "What do you mean you won't attend?" she asked surprised. "It's absurd. Blair, I'm aware Chuck and his father weren't on good terms, but…"

"I said we won't, mother," Blair snapped, interrupting Eleanor's speech about what was the appropriate thing to do. She couldn't care less about etiquette and appearances; the mere thought of putting Chuck through something so pointlessly painful made her stomach turn with disgust.

The tone of the answer and the way her daughter's voice had raised left Eleanor speechless. She limited herself to stare at her with a profoundly shocked expression, which told Blair that she had probably been too harsh. Unsure how to justify her unexpected rudeness and especially the decision not to attend the service, Blair averted her gaze from her mother. She was glad to see Dorota stepping into the room with the serving tea cart leaden with pastries tray, a teapot and cups.

She smiled at her maid. "Thank you, Dorota," she uttered when the woman shot her a knowing glance while pouring tea into her cup. As Dorota proceeded to serve Eleanor, Blair took a long a long sip of Earl Grey. She closed her eyes for a moment and, savoring the infusion, she allowed herself to relax.

It was only when Dorota left the room that Eleanor spoke. "Blair," she said strictly, forcing her daughter to bring her eyes back on her. "Tell me what's going on."

Blair guided the cup to her lips once again. "What are you referring to?" she asked to buy time.

"What am I referring to?" Eleanor exclaimed, placing her cup back on the cart with an unusually graceless gesture of irritation. "I've just been asked by a bunch of reporters if the man my daughter married in a flash wedding is responsible for his father's death. And not you're telling me that you and Charles won't be at the funeral. Do you realize how this looks like?"

Blair remained silent for a second. She leaned in and calmly settled her cup on the coffee table. With a careful gesture, she adjusted the fabric of her longuette and then looked up, locking eyes with her mother. "I'm aware," she replied in a flat tone. "I understand your suspects. But I can't tell you more than what I've already told you yesterday at the police station: Chuck isn't guilty."

Eleanor scowled. "I need an explanation, Blair," she stated resolutely. "I think I deserve one. I'm your mother."

A sense of exhaustion made Blair lower her gaze and sigh. Confiding the full story to one of the people she trusted the most would have been relieving; it would have helped her to carry the weight of that shocking experience and allowed her to catch her breath and grant herself the luxury of vulnerability. But she couldn't; not without betraying Chuck – his unconditional trust, his love, his need for her strength.

She shook her head a little. "I can't give you one," she answered. Though when she glanced up on her mother her eyes were shimmering with held back tears, she uttered the words deliberately and sharply, giving them the tone of unquestionable decisiveness. "I need you to trust me and to respect my marriage."

"I do trust you!" Eleanor took her hand and squeezed it. "And even if it was unexpected, I'm glad you married the only man you've ever truly loved. I'm just concerned because of the circumstances; if you and Charles have something to do with Bart's death…"

"Mother," with her free hand, Blair cupped their already laced ones. "I know you're worried – and I can see why you are. But telling you anything more about what happened wouldn't simply put you in a compromised position; it would also mean I'm not being loyal to my husband. I could never do that to him. Do you understand?"

Eleanor freed her hand from Blair's hold and, sucking in a long breath, she brought it to her forehead and bowed her head. It wasn't before a few seconds had passed that she guided her eyes back on her daughter and nodded slowly. "I do," she replied in a whisper.

As the answer came out of Eleanor's lips, Blair realized she couldn't hold her gaze; not when her chest was full of the fear of being faced by the woman's disappointment. So, looking down at her lap, she asked: "Do you think it makes me weak?"

"Weak?" a chortle suffocated her mother's echoed question.

Surprised by that reaction, Blair raised her eyes. Eleanor was staring at her with the hint of a smile on her lips. "Of course I don't think it makes you weak, Blair," she said in a gentle tone that normally didn't belong to her. "Quite the opposite. The absolute loyalty you're showing gives me once again the confirmation that I raised an incredibly strong woman; a conscious a graceful one. One that doesn't choose what's easy over what's worth fighting for. It takes bravery to make such a decision and even more to do it with awareness."

Eleanor's praising statements reassured Blair and dissolved her concerns about being disapproved; instead, she felt understood and respected, empowered by the pride and the genuine admiration conveyed by her mother's words. "I did set myself up for a difficult journey," she commented with a nod, as a tiny smile tilted up the corners of her mouth. "But I've learnt that lightness and happiness don't necessarily coincide. And I know I don't belong to a simple love."

Eleanor reached out to her cheek. She stroked it lightly with her fingers, offering her a warm look. "There's a glow about you," she told her, "you do look happy."

Blair's smile widened. "I am, mother," she answered and her voice shook with enthusiasm. "I don't think I've ever felt happier."

"Oh well, who am I to argue with happiness?" Eleanor wondered with a sigh, spreading her hands in a resigned gesture before rubbing them against her knees.

Being inflexible herself and hating being kept in the dark as much as her mother did, Blair welcomed the woman's defeated expression with a sympathetic look, well aware that that stoic acceptance was the best reaction she could have expected from her. Once again, she reached for Eleanor's hand and took it in hers. "Thank you," she told her. "I know I'm asking a lot."

Eleanor eyed her for a moment before shaking her head. "It's alright, Blair," she said. "Truth being told, I suspected you weren't going to say a word about the situation," she admitted, rolling her eyes. "Even Cyrus had warned me not to expect it."

Blair chuckled. "Well, he's a lawyer," she observed with a tad of irony. "He's supposed to know these things."

Giggling as well, Eleanor leaned in and reached for the teapot. "I just hope you and Charles won't have to live in the public eye for too long," she said, pouring the still smoking-hot brown liquid into the cup she had left on the cart. "It must be hard."

"It is," Blair confessed, heaving a long sigh. "Especially for Chuck. All this attention on Bart's death and all the expectations…it's anguishing."

Eleanor nodded. "How is he doing?" she asked with a tactful smile.

Blair glanced down. "It's complicated," she replied laconically. Once again, as she faintly uttered the only answer she could give without having to reveal the truth, she was faced with the awareness that she needed to take Chuck away from all that pressure. She could handle it, but she knew he couldn't – not yet, at least, not while he was still so oblivious to his own pain. She pursed her lips, her heart beating frantically with the desire to see the time flowing faster till tomorrow's dawn, when she would have held his hand and guided him into the plane that would have brought them aboard.

"Well," Eleanor said, "have you considered spending some time away from New York?"

Staggered, Blair looked up at her mother and stared at her with slightly parted lips. "That's –"

"Exactly what you wanted to talk to me about?" Eleanor gazed back at her with raised eyebrows and a knowing smile. When Blair, more and more surprised, blinked, she let out a small laugh and shook her head. "You forget I'm the person who raised you, Blair," she pointed out. "I figured out you wanted to discuss your honeymoon the moment I saw Dorota's madeleines and my favorite macarons arranged on that tray," she waved her hand towards the cart. "Cajoling wasn't necessary, though. You can take all the time you need."

"Are you sure it doesn't bother you handling the company for a little while?" Blair's voice was full of her sudden joyfulness and her eyes were shining with fervor and wonder. "We won't be away for too long."

"Young woman," Eleanor rested her hand on Blair's knee and patted lightly on in, "I've been in charge of Waldorf Designs for the past thirty plus years. I'm pretty sure I can do it for a few more weeks."

With a long sigh of relief, Blair grinned. She was lucky, she came to think again as the sharp contrast between hers and Chuck's situation became even clearer before her eyes, portrayed by her mother's reassuring expression; she was blessed with her family's approval and utter support.

* * *

It was almost eight when Blair stepped back from the long table in the dining room, to observe the result of her effort. Hands on her hips and slight frown wrinkling her forehead, she meticulously inspected the table setting, which she had been working on for the past hour, ever since her mother had left. Her attentive eyes traced the lace inserts of the linen tablecloth, as she scanned the elaborately decorated porcelain plates, the crystal glasses and the sterling silver cutlery.

A self-complacent half smile raised to her lips. After several rearrangements, everything was finally flawless; each piece she had carefully selected occupied the proper place and a crimson red roses centerpiece towered next to a candelabrum.

Worried about Chuck and curious to know the outcome of his conversation with Lily, Blair had been forced to find a way to keep herself occupied and kill time. Her solution, eventually, had been channeling all of her nervousness into creating the perfect atmosphere for her husband to come home to. An opulent table prepared to be the backdrop to an equally lavish dinner, Chopin's Nocturnes playing softly on repeat through the speakers, the crackling fireplace illuminating the room dimly; a romantic and intimate vibe shrouded the house, giving it the warmth of coziness and the calm of a shelter.

Blair's smile widened as she glanced at her phone, which she was holding tightly in her hands. She reread the text Chuck had sent her a few minutes ago, and allowed herself to enjoy the sudden sense of comfort at the thought that he would have soon stepped out of the elevator and then straight into her arms. " _Coming back to you, as promised,"_ the message said.

Much calmer, she exhaled a relaxed breath and leaned in to light up the tall ivory candles rising up from the candelabrum's arms. Once done, she once again smiled to herself and made her way back to the living room, where she proceeded to take care of the very last thing she needed to set before Chuck's arrival. She paced up the bar, poured a fair amount of scotch into a crystal glass and then settled it on the coffee table in front of the couch; served neat to exalt its strength, the liquor would have helped her husband to forget for a moment the surely trying few hours he had spent away from her.

Ten minutes later the elevator rang to announce him. At the sound, Blair stood up swiftly and reached the hall with a few rapid steps. Her lips stretched in the brightest beam when the automatic doors slip open and she saw Chuck staring back at her. He looked even more strained than when he had left, she detected immediately, but he was safe.

Blair threw her arms around his neck and pulled him to her chest before the doors could close. Her hands gripped the fabric of his coat as she avidly breathed him in. "You were gone for too long," she murmured against his shoulder, before he could say anything.

Chuck laced an arm around her waist and squeezed her in a tight and reassuring embrace. "I came back to you," he said as his hand inched up her back, giving her the comfort of a soothing stroke.

She felt the hint of a smile in his voice, an unmistakable touch of delight and relief that drew her gaze towards his. Locking eyes with him, she realized he was actually smiling; it was a soft smile, a loving and exposed one. She reached out to his check and cupped it with her palm. "You did," she replied, exhaling a sigh.

Ducking his head, Chuck kissed her. Blair let the touch of his lips erase the fear that had weighted on her heart for most of the afternoon; kissing back, she insinuated her fingers through his hair, in a gesture that was both affectionate and protective. He was home, she told herself once again, wrapped in the shelter of her love.

"How did it go with Lily?" she asked when they parted, laying her head over his chest.

Chuck sighed. "She'll help," he replied briefly.

The lack of details in his answer made Blair glance up to realize that his expression had suddenly tensed. Her lips curled in a slight, placid smile. "Why don't you tell me about it over a drink?" she proposed in a delicate voice.

He lowered his eyes. His hold on her weakened, dampened by his reluctance at the idea of having that conversation and, at the same time, by the awareness that it was still necessary. His struggle became even clearer to Blair's eyes as, staring at him, she recognized the suffering he couldn't accept or name. In the attempt to make it easier for him, she freed him from her hug and reached for his free hand. Her fingers slithered through his and then clutched his palm, tender yet secure.

At the touch, Chuck looked back at her. He eyed her for a moment, resting his gaze on her reassuring smile and then, slowly, he nodded.

Still holding his hand, Blair led him into the living room and towards the couch. Chuck smirked faintly at her when, sitting down, he noticed the glass set on the coffee table. "That's quite a lot of liquor for a glass," he said, taking off his coat.

"Well," Blair replied, taking a seat next you him, "you had a quite long day."

As he leaned in to take the drink, she slid her arm around his waist and rested her other hand over his knee. She watched him swallowing a long sip and patiently waited for him to pronounce himself.

He placed the scotch back on the coffee before guiding his hand to his neck to loosen the tight tie's knot. As soon as his fingers freed him from that constriction, he exhaled a weary breath and closed his eyes from a brief moment. "We have a month," he finally uttered, as he slid off his suit jacket and tossed it over the coat. "Lily thinks that postponing the succession at the head of Bass Industries for longer isn't advisable."

Blair glanced at the clothes he had carelessly threw on the couch's armrest with concern. It was a small gesture that spoke about his distress louder than his controlled expression and detached tone, and, realizing it, she tightened her embrace. "She's right," she replied with a calm smile.

Chuck pressed his lips in a thin line and shook his head slightly. "I know," he stated in a low voice. He paused to suck in a deep breath before saying: "I just wanted to give you a longer honeymoon."

Reaching out to his cheek, Blair lightly pushed his face to side to guide his eyes in her direction. Her smile widened as her fingers skimmed over his jaw. "Whether it's for a day or for a year, I'll be happy to treasure every moment spent alone with you."

The corners of Chuck's mouth tilted up in the shadow of a shy smile. His eyes lowered as he tilted his head in an unsure nod. Then, reaching out, he cupped her face with both hands and rested his forehead against hers for a couple of seconds before kissing her. Sensing all of his unspoken gratitude merging with his fatigue in the slowness of those gestures, Blair prolonged the kiss, closing her eyes and allowing his lips to dwell on hers. It was a comforting and peaceful moment for both of them; even when they parted, she let a few seconds of quiet silence pass by before speaking.

"What about the rest?" she asked eventually with a certain hesitancy, grabbing the glass he had left half empty. Darting him a sympathetic, almost guilty look, she handed it to him as if to apologize for her question.

Chuck took his drink from her hands and, avoiding her gaze, he drained it in a single sip. "I delegated Lily to attend the reading of the will in my place," he explained her in a flat voice. There was no trace of sentiment in his words. Not even bitterness shook them; they sounded mechanical and imperturbably cold. "It was all too unexpected for changes to be made: it'll likely be the same as the last time. As for the function, I told her I don't want to be involved."

His speech couldn't have been more impersonal; not even mentioning the funeral his voice had flinched with the hint of an emotion and his eyes had stayed motionless, starting at an imprecise point in front of him. Everything about his demeanor was rigid: his pose, his face, even the way his hand didn't move while holding the empty glass.

Studying him, Blair understood that the conversation had to end there. She couldn't bear to see him becoming more and more distant as he talked. He had shared with her all that she needed to know; pushing him any further was pointless. "I'm sure she understands that," she limited herself to comment.

Chuck answered with a soundless nod. He set the glass aside and leaned back against the couch's backrest, sliding his arm around Blair's shoulders. She let him pull her closer and laid her head on the top of his chest; her fingers, slow and delicate, kept running up and down along his side.

For a couple of minutes, neither of them spoke. Blair closed her eyes and focused on the sound of his breathing. It reached her ears clearly even over the soft music playing on the background. Carried away by the quietness, she found herself smiling at that simple sign that he was alive. The thought that she could have lost him still lingered in the back of her mind like a shadow over which she couldn't shed light, and she welcomed every reminder that she was allowed to let go of that fear as a vital reassurance.

"We should take advantage of this romantic atmosphere to discuss our honeymoon in details, Mrs. Bass."

Chuck's voice made a smile rise to her lips. She lifted her eyelids and immediately met his gaze looking down at her. He had a more relaxed expression now and a softer light in his stare; a loving warmth, a twinkle of satisfaction that instantly filled her heart with happiness.

"So you noticed," she said, her voice tinged with delight. She rubbed her cheek against his chest. "I wanted to give you a perfect welcoming."

Chuck smirked at her. "Of course I did," taking her hand in his, he ducked his head and placed a kiss on her temple. "Chopin, dim lights…if I had a dirty mind, I'd say you're trying to seduce me."

Blair giggled at the joke before rolling her eyes. "Again, I think I should remind you that I don't need to seduce you," she pointed out with a tad of smugness. "My presence is enough to arouse your libido."

"You always speak words of truth," he declared, leaning in with the clear intention of laying her down on the couch.

"Bass," realizing his intentions and the sudden sharpness of his smirk, she pronounced his name in a warning tone. "Didn't you have something to tell me about our trip?"

He captured her lips in a brief yet eager and seductive kiss. "It can wait," he whispered against her still slightly parted mouth, as, using the weight of his body, he pulled her further down.

Blair pushed her palms against his chest to stop him. When he frowned, she smirked at him. "Anything can wait in the face of such an inviting offer," she uttered softly, running her palms up to the collar of his dress shirt. She grabbed the loosen tie hanging from his neck and, as her fingers curled around the fabric, she tugged it, forcing his face closer to hers again. She kissed him back, her lips resting on his long enough to make his hand quiver with the pleasure of anticipation, and then murmured: "Except for our honeymoon plans."

With a sigh, Chuck reluctantly pulled back. As Blair sat up with a satisfied expression, he reached out to his jacket and extracted a folded sheet of paper from the inner pocket.

Blair's eyebrows arched with the most vivid curiosity. "You actually made a list?"

Handing her the paper, Chuck smiled satisfied. "My wife is the most controlling woman I know. Not presenting her with precise details would have meant torturing her," he joked, and his sly smile softened as his eyes rested on her. "And all I want to give her is pleasure."

Caught by a sudden shyness, Blair glanced down. That simple gesture struck her as immensely romantic; it carried the confirm that not only he knew her to the core, but that he also respected her. He didn't simply accept her, he loved her – truly, unconditionally. She beamed at him before taking the list from his hand.

"Read it out of loud," Chuck told her as she unfolded the paper.

Blair raised her eyebrows at him. "You're so vain," she giggled.

"I'm not," he pointed out with a shrug, "I'm just proud of my work."

Blair rolled her eyes once more before she started reading. "From December 19th to December 23rd we'll be in Vienna. Oh, Chuck!" She looked up at him and a wide grin spread across her face. Her gaze was twinkling with excitement. "I love Vienna, it's such a wonderful place."

Chuck smiled back at her. "It is indeed," he stated proudly. "What a better place to start our honeymoon than an imperial city?"

"It's perfect," she commented with growing enthusiasm. "Nothing more accurate to represent us than a great symbol of power and culture."

He chuckled. "Keep on," he suggested with the same self-satisfied tone. "I bet you'll be over the moon about the following destination."

Chuck wasn't wrong. As soon as she read the next line, her eyes opened wide with surprise. "We'll be spending the Christmas at daddy's?" she exclaimed, bringing her hand to her chest. She felt a moved tear rolling down her cheek and rushed to wipe it away.

Though she hadn't really allowed herself to think about it, she had deeply missed her father at the ceremony and she knew he felt the same way. He had been overjoyed with the news that she had married Chuck when she had called him yesterday during the reception, but she had still perceived his sad disappointment at the realization that he hadn't witnessed such a fundamental moment of her life.

Chuck reached out to her knee and gave it a gentle squeeze. "I thought it was right to pay him a visit since he wasn't at our wedding," he told her. "We had the chance to talk over the phone this afternoon. He was delighted to know we'll be staying at the chateaux for a few days."

Blair's smile trembled a little. "Are you sure it's what you want, Chuck?" she asked in a lower voice. "It's our honeymoon. You shouldn't have to share my attention with anyone."

He shook his head firmly. "He's your father," he affirmed. "He's important to you and I'm always going to respect that," guiding his hand to her cheek, he tenderly ran his thumb over her lips, causing her unsure smile to stretch into a bright one. "Besides," he shot her an eloquent glance, "I have the rest of my life to take pleasure in your attention; starting with New Year's Eve, which we'll spend alone in Paris."

In a rush of excitement, Blair set the list aside and threw her arms around his neck. Kissing him deeply, she pushed him down on the couch, a faithful replica of what he had done a few minutes before. She would have read about Moscow, Milan and Venice later; it was now time to indulge the feeling of immense love making her heart pound with thankfulness and joy.

* * *

Past after midnight, they were both still awake. Tiredness hadn't discouraged their excitement; they had been discussing the trip for the past hour, ever since Blair had finished packing and joined Chuck in bed. Legs waved together and no distance between them, Chuck and Blair had been talking dreamingly about each stop of their honeymoon with the most ardent fervor.

Toying distractedly with Chuck's hand, Blair heaved a pleased sigh. "I want to go at the opera in Moscow," she said, sliding her fingers further between his, "make a tour of the best shops in Milan and pass under the Bridge of Sighs in Venice."

Chuck lifted their laced hands to his lips and pressed a kiss on hers. "We'll do all of this," he promised her, "and much more."

Blair smiled blissfully to herself. Her eyes went shut as she took a deep breath. Inebriating and heartwarming, it made her mind drift into a vivid envisioning of how the next weeks were going to be: romantic, passionate, healing. Then, suddenly, a thought came to her mind and broke her fantasizing.

"Chuck," she called him with a tad of suspect in her voice.

He turned slightly to side to face her better. "Tell me," he replied, skimming his thumb over her cheek.

"I was thinking about the list you gave me," she eyed him with furrowed eyebrows that matched her doubtful tone. "It starts with December 19th," she stated, "but we're living tomorrow, which is December 14th."

A self-satisfied smirk curled his lips. "We are," he answered laconically.

Blair pursed his lips. "Bass," she darted him a vaguely bothered glance, "you forgot to tell me where we're going first."

His smirk became more evident and so did her frown. "That, my darling, is a surprise," he said, laughing softly at the now obviously annoyed look she was staring at him with. "Don't scowl," she told her. He kissed her forehead, which relaxed under that touch. When he pulled back to rest his eyes on her again, she was fighting the need to smile. "You're going to love it."

Rolling her eyes, Blair sighed. "Well, you proved to be worthy of trust," she conceded. Then, gazing back at him, she smiled sweetly. "We should sleep, Chuck," she told him, sliding her fingers slowly along his face.

He didn't avert his eyes from hers for a few seconds and Blair saw them becoming tense with fear. She knew he was scared of closing his eyes and giving in to sleep; awake, he could control his thoughts and repress his emotions, but he had no power over his dreams. She laced her arms tight around him and buried her face into the crook of his neck. "It'll be fine," she assured him, her lips pressed against his shoulder in a soft kiss.

Chuck pulled her even closer and bowed his head, breathing her in. "I'm tired," he told her in a faint whisper.

That small confession, the maximum he could manage to express, filled Blair's eyes with tears, for she understood that he had given a deeper meaning to it. Sleep would have helped to heal the tiredness of his body but not the exhaustion of his cruelly tormented mind and soul.

"I know," she answered, her voice shuddering from the lump in her throat. "It'll be better, Chuck. Tomorrow we'll leave and put it all behind our backs for a while."

She felt him nodding. "I love you," he told her. The three words came out quivering with sincerity, with need and with pain.

Blair took a deep breath. She couldn't promise she would have fixed what had gotten broken inside him. No one could, not even time. What she could promise, though, was to help him live with the scars; to do her best to give him happiness in spite of them.

"I love you too," she answered, leaving that simple, perfect statement to seal her vow.

* * *

 **Notes:**

 **[1]** _Honeymoon_ , Lana Del Rey

 **[2]** As I'm sure you noticed, this entire chapter was written from Blair's POV. There's an explanation for it: I felt it was the best way to give an insight on Chuck's emotional state.

 **[3]** As usual, all my gratitude to my wonderful Daphne for her constant and patient support.


	2. Prologue - Part 2

**Prologue – Part 2**

 **Airborne, December 14th, 2012.**

The following morning the Bass jet took off before dawn had the time to tinge the sky with its pale pink stripes. Sat next to his wife, Chuck averted his gaze from her to guide it out of the round window at his side.

It was the first time in the past two days that he felt the necessity to turn his attention to something that wasn't her; inevitably, as the plane gained altitude, he found himself staring at the city he had so passionately dreamed of conquering his whole life.

It was without surprise that he realized that the panorama broadening under him didn't give him any sort of emotion. As he observed the tall building and the streets he had grown up thinking he was destined to own becoming smaller and smaller under his look, not pride, nor bitterness touched him. It was his now; his kingdom, his dominion, the most blatant statement of the absolute power he had conquered through pain, sacrifices and efforts.

And yet, in spite of everything it had meant to him, now nothing but numbness filled his mind at the thought of his ambitions, of his projects, of his so intensely craved role in that world he was expected to rule. It seemed all alien to him, distant, even irrelevant.

He was actually leaving it behind with an ever-growing sense of relief – relief from the meaning of his achievement, from its costs and, most of all, from the obligation to feel anything, whether that was satisfaction, rage or hollowness.

Not even guilt brushed against his conscience. He should have heard it screaming loudly, forcing him to support the weight of responsibility, but he didn't. No matter how atrocious they were, the echo of his faults couldn't reach him.

"There's nothing quite as gorgeous as New York's skyline standing out against the dark," Blair wondered, sighing in front of the view.

The pull of her voice drew Chuck's eyes towards her once again and, all of sudden, his chest was back to be a fertile ground for the most powerful emotions; she catalyzed them, forced them out of the impassiveness he was locked into. They all started and ended with her, with the strength of her glistening eyes. She was the only thing he managed to feel - the only one he _wanted_ to feel.

He couldn't stop looking at her, for she had the power to drag him out of his emotionlessness; watching her, he felt alive, dazed by his love and his gratitude for her. Over the past forty-eight hours, his stare had witnessed the changing of her demeanor several times and he had been overwhelmed by each side of her, as if they had presented themselves before him clearer than they had ever had. Strength, bravery and determination had made her the woman who had taken him by the hand and guided him to safety and life, but she had been much more; the desperate heart who had still chosen to trust him, the enamored, moved bride who had married him without hesitation, the glowing spouse he had danced with during their reception and the passionate lover who had canceled months of deprivation with the first touch they had shared in the intimacy of her empty house.

The most wonderful, enigmatic woman. His wife. _Blair._

He smiled at her. "I can think of at least one thing that is better," he replied, reaching out to her cheek. He raised his eyebrows at her, darting her a sly glance as his smile sharpened into a smirk. "You."

Blair rolled her eyes. "You're such a flatterer," she said through a giggle, leaning in towards him. His fingers indulged her movement and traced the side of her face in a caress, sliding into her hair when she placed a light kiss on his lips.

Pulling back, he eyed her. The Nile blue silk faille dress she was wearing lent her a both regal and delicate appearance; she looked sophisticated and poised, impeccable with her full curls falling over her shoulders and the string of pearls enhancing the neckline. Still, it was the glow of her skin that kept luring him, the vibrancy of her gaze; a blast of passion below a surface of perfection.

"I'm just stating the truth," he observed, his voice become hoarse with sudden lust. He cursed the safety belt crossing her chest that kept him from pulling her onto his lap, freeing her from her classy attire and relishing the wildness hidden behind her unblemished composure.

Blair smiled pleased at him. Reading correctly the subtext of his tone and glimmer of his eyes, she laid back on her seat and crossed her legs slowly. "What a solemn compliment," she commented, careful to make the fabric of her dress slid slightly up her thigh to expose a few more inches of skin.

His eyes widened at her gesture. The subtle way she had of provoking him was still the most tempting allure he had ever experienced. It was both challenging and gratifying; it had the exciting nature of a dare and yet it brought with it the awareness that the he was the one and only who could win her sweetly cruel game. Her refined, elusive invitations always led to the same outcome: he would have found the key to seduce her and her instinct would have triumphed over her enjoyment in prolonging his wait. His pride would have fed hers and pleasure would have left them both with a victory.

Chuck leaned in and slithered his hand under the hem of her skirt. His palm inched along her thigh as he buried his fingers in between her tightly crossed legs and pressed them against her skin. "In a couple of minutes, we'll be free to unfasten these instruments of torture," he told her.

Blair, who had closed her eyes and parted her lips at his insistent touch, nodded. Realizing that he had stolen her ability speak imprisoning her voice in a barely repressed moan, Chuck smirked victorious.

Her body shook with a shiver when his index finally skimmed over the border of her panties, and her legs spread. "Chuck," Blair pronounced his name as an invocation, in a choked, tremulous voice, urging him to stop lingering and to insinuate his fingers under the thin lace of her underwear.

And he was just about to do that when the flight attendant entered the cabin.

He noticed her immediately, but Blair didn't. When he abruptly pulled back his hand, her eyes snapped open in surprise just for a second, before she realized the situation. She sat up bolt upright with a jolt and straightened her back, trying to compose herself.

Chuck leaned back in his seat staring at her. Though she quickly smoothed the dress' skirt and adjusted her legs in a less compromising position, the flush brushing her cheeks revealed all of her arousal and frustration. He let out a chortle when she glanced up to glare at him and smiled slyly at the accusatory expression on her face.

He bent forward and placed a kiss on the side of her neck. "Remember, I never leave things unfinished," he murmured swiftly into her ear just as the hostess approached their seats.

Blair gave him another dirty look. "You'd better not to," she hissed as a discreet smirk took shape on her lips.

The flight assistant stopped by their side and cleared her throat to announce herself. "Good morning Mr. Bass," she greeted her employer before directing her gaze to Blair, "and Mrs. Bass. Everything went well with the takeoff. We're safely airborne. You're free to unfasten your safety belts and move to the lounge, if you please."

Freeing himself from the belt, Chuck gave her an abrupt nod. "My wife and I are going to need a few minutes of privacy," he told her curtly to dismiss her. "We'll let you know when we're ready for breakfast."

The woman answered with a polite smile and rapidly made her way out of the cabin, leaving the couple alone.

As soon as she did, Chuck stood up and, fixing his suit, he looked down at Blair.

A bright grin was stretching her lips and lightening her expression. "She called me Mrs. Bass," she said in the most elated tone. Her doe eyes shimmered with delight when she brought them on him.

She sounded almost surprised, Chuck realized, and ecstatic; there was a dreamy note in her voice, a thrill of enthusiasm that made him smile back immediately. "Of course she did," he stated proudly. "It's your name."

Her beam widened. "It is," she uttered. "Blair Waldorf Bass."

Once again, as he watched her unfastening her belt, Chuck was faced with the unquestionable fact that the look of joy and bliss on her face was what gave meaning and hope to his life; it was observing her that he was able to bring clearness into his present and to shape his future in his mind. Everything around him was blurred and confused; everything but her. She was the one who gifted his world with significance.

He bent on his knees and rested his palms over her legs. "I'm going to spend my whole life making sure you're glad of being Mrs. Bass," he told her, ducking his head.

It came to him then, as he spoke, that he would have done anything in his power in order to preserve her happiness, to never make her regret the choice she had made when she had vowed to spend the rest of her life by his side.

Even if his side wasn't the safest or the brightest of places. On the contrary, it was often narrow and dark; uncomfortable to occupy. He was a complicated person living a complicated reality.

In spite of his best intentions to grant her joy, to dedicate her all of his devotion, his weaknesses and his flaws could have accidentally caged her in an existence of sacrifice and struggle. The most recent events proved it; standing by him, protecting him, she had found herself having to face terror and death.

His heart turned heavy with fright at the thought, at the idea of not being able to shelter her from the darkness of his past, from the shadows and the deep holes making his soul a difficult one to love. His hands trembled and clutched her thighs in a way that was a wordless plea for reassurance.

In a moment, he felt Blair's fingers trapping his chin and gently pushing it up. Inhaling a deep breath, he gave in to her gesture and, glancing up, he found out that she had leaned over. Her face was so close to his that the tip of her nose almost touch his.

He noticed that her smile had changed; it hadn't lost its delight, but its enthusiasm had softened. There was a tender sweetness about it now; it was caring and warm.

"I am already," she said, cupping his cheek and stroking it with her thumb. "And proud," her voice lowered to a whisper when her lips brushed against his, "I'll always be."

Closing his eyes, Chuck deepened her delicate kiss. His hands trailed to her waist pulling her skirt up as they slid over her sides. He was suddenly overcome by need; need to know feel her presence as strongly as he could, to let her show him that he was still there, still present; that what made him who he was, what made him the man she loved, hadn't fallen down the roof of a skyscraper.

Slipping his palms under her bottom, he pushed away that fresh memory. His lack of pain, grieve and anger lost once again its importance the moment Blair clung her arms to his neck and allowed him to lift her up. Carrying her to the lounge, he buried his face into the crook of her neck as she wrapped her legs tight around his waist.

He could feel her. She was the piercing emotion cutting through his numbness; she was life, love, hope, tension towards the future.

A future she had chosen to share with him, Chuck told himself as he laid her down on the leather couch. She had done it consciously, with passion and conviction; she had trusted his ability to give her happiness. And it was his duty not to question her decision.

* * *

"You know," Chuck said about half an hour later, his fingers trailing slowly up and down Blair's arm, "you make eating a croissant look incredibly sexy."

It was true; her gestures were unintentionally sensual. They were unhurried, almost ethereal in their elegance and delicacy. He had spent the past five minutes staring at her as she ate and found himself discovering a graceful eroticism in every movement her hands and lips had produced.

His food, two French toasts topped with marmalade, laid untouched on his plate. He was completely absorbed by Blair; she left him in a state of utter amazement. He couldn't resist the magnetism she seemed to unleash to his eyes; he had to gaze at her, he had to touch her, to breathe in her perfume. She was inebriating.

Chuck leaned over. Her neck, which was partially covered by her hair, was an irresistible lure. His eagerness had left marks on it; races of his fervent kisses still reddened her naturally pale skin, giving him an immediate reminder that she belonged to him.

Just as he was about to press his lips right under her ear, Blair playfully pulled back and her curly locks followed the abrupt movement of her head, exposing the curve of her neck fully.

It was the clear sound of her soft laugh that distracted Chuck from his lustful thoughts and brought him to glance up at her.

She answered to his look with a complacent smirk. "You're incorrigible," she told him quietly, reaching out to the cup of tea set on the low table in front of them. The flight assistant had arranged their breakfast there, so that they could eat sitting side by side on the lounge's couch.

Chuck shrugged. "Yes, I am," he stated, raising his eyebrows at her. "Can you blame me?" he asked. "You're an endless source of temptation."

Blair giggled again. "I suppose I should take it as a compliment," she replied before sipping her tea. She smiled naughtily at him behind the edge of the cup.

"Absolutely," Chuck wrapped an arm around her shoulder, as, with his free hand, he grabbed his flute. "And I'll be glad to show you my appreciation again after you finish your breakfast," he took a taste of juice and then added: "The kind of homage I enjoy the most paying to you requires energy."

"Then you should consider eating too," she answered. She reached out to his fork, cut a piece of French toast with it and then lifted that small taste of food to his mouth.

Chuck took the bite she was offering with hooded eyelids and a pleased smile. He savored it slowly, enjoying not only the sweet flavor of the fried bread, but also and mostly the avid anticipation her deliberate gesture had brought with it.

When he opened his eyes again, Blair had her purse on her lap. After a moment, she extracted her phone from there.

A doubtful expression crossed Chuck's face. "Blair," he pronounced her name with a tad of perplexity, placing his glass back on the low table, "what are you doing?"

Blair ignored him. Instead of looking back at him and clarifying what she was up to, she started typing something, apparently deaf to his question.

Chuck frowned; he tightened his hold on her and pulled her slightly closer to gain her attention. "Blair?"

Blair glanced up from the phone's screen to smile slyly at him. "Chuck," she replied simply.

Realizing that she had no intention of sharing the details of what she was doing, Chuck let out a sigh. He was suddenly both annoyed and entertained by her teasing, indifferent attitude. "I thought you had suggested we'd ' _cut any communication with the world_ ' for at least a week," he reminded her. Only ten minutes before, she had taken the papers the hostess had brought him together with breakfast and tossed them away, claiming that he didn't need to read " _people's idiotic opinions_ " about their marriage.

"Actually," Blair said, "I didn't suggest anything. I made a rule out of it."

Chuck leaned back on his seat adjusting his jacket. "So," he uttered, "I'm not allowed to read the daily press, but you can use your phone."

Without averting her eyes from the screen, Blair shrugged. "I simply need an information about our flight."

The frown crumpling Chuck's forehead deepened. "This is a private jet, Blair," he objected.

"Oh! Really?" she exclaimed, fluttering her eyelids as if to express surprise. "So that's why there's ' _Bass Industries_ ' written all over the plane's side!" She shook her head, putting the phone back into her bag. "What a fool I am. I hadn't made the connection."

Irritated by her mockery and by the fact that she was purposely keeping something hidden from him, Chuck snorted. "Hilarious," he commented rolling his eyes.

Blair chortled. "Don't be grumpy, Bass," she told him, resting her hand on his cheek. She pushed his face to side forcing him to look at her and, when she did, she smirked cunningly at him. "I just made a small research to see which destinations you can reach in eight and a half hours, leaving from New York and travelling on a direct flight."

Putting the pieces of her deceit together, Chuck cursed himself for believing that she would have given up on her attempt to find out where they were heading so easily. She hadn't, obviously; the docile acceptance she had showed the night before, when she had realized he had decided to keep their first stop a surprise, had been a mere façade. "So that's what you were talking about with the pilot," he said, as a scowl darkened his expression. "You asked him how long the flight would have lasted."

Blair's smile widened with blatant satisfaction. She slid closer to him and started tapping her fingers over his chest. "You were taking forever to get out of that limousine," she said with a long sigh and an innocent pout curling her lips. "I was bored."

"I was adjusting my scarf," Chuck protested. Though he was trying to keep a straight face, he felt amusement tickling at the corners of his mouth. The adoration he had for her dishonesty was far bigger than his annoyance.

Blair laced her arms around his neck. She settled herself on his knees and slid her hand over his jaw as he trapped her in his firm hold. "And I took the chance to make small talks," she said softly as, with her index, she traced an imaginary line down to his neck. "I couldn't ask directly for the destination, though," she added. "It would have been too easy, don't you think?"

"You don't like easy," he stated. "You like me." He wasn't paying attention to the way she had tricked him anymore; having her sitting on his legs and her hands touching him, he couldn't do anything but congratulating her for her small victory with a kiss.

* * *

Hours later they were flying above France. Europe had welcomed them with the beauty of a nocturnal sky, which didn't let Chuck's gaze catch anything but darkness as he looked outside the round windows. That sense of isolation made him feel relieved.

Being airborne meant being unreachable, and that was exactly the condition he wanted to experience; to be inaccessible, to create a barricade made of distance and loneliness to keep the world away from himself and from his wife.

He didn't want anything or anyone to intrude their intimacy; not yet, at least. The idea of being exposed to eyes and voices that weren't Blair's disturbed him. He wasn't ready for it; for people who didn't know him and who couldn't comprehend him as she did.

It had been with this conviction that he had accurately selected the first destination of their honeymoon. He was sure that, once Blair had seen it, she would have understood the motives behind his choice immediately.

A pensive smile on his lips, Chuck peeked at the door that led to the bedroom's cabin. It was still shut, as Blair had left it when she had closed it behind herself. It had only been a few minutes since she had gone freshening up and changing into warmed clothes before the landing, but he already longed to have her back on his lap.

For hours, as the jet crossed the Atlantic, he hadn't let go of her, nor Blair had showed any desire to part from his hands, which, sometimes avid, sometimes adoring, had kept stroking her body in a continuous succession of lustful and tender touches.

Realizing that his wife still wasn't about to come back, Chuck reached out to his phone. Blair's rule hadn't been broken again after she had nailed down a list of three possible countries – " _Switzerland, Austria or Germany_ ", she had written down on a post it before handing it to him with a proud expression –, but he was about to make an exception as well.

His reasons, though, had a little to do with curiosity. He simply wanted to make sure everything was settled before their arrival; impeccable, as Blair needed things to be.

Afraid that she might have heard him speak, he decided to write an email to the person he had hired to organize the place for their stay. He typed a few concise and strict sentences, took a couple seconds to re-read them and then sent the message. He didn't have to wait long for the reply; the woman he had contacted replied to his message almost immediately, letting him know that his demands had been satisfied and that she and her staff were more than ready to welcome him and his bride.

Pleased with himself, Chuck turned the phone off. He decided that his satisfaction had to be rewarded with a drink and called for the flight attendant to order one.

When Blair stepped back into the cabin, Chuck was still sipping the scotch he had chosen to savor slowly. He glanced up to see her pacing towards the lounge and smirked at her sight.

She was wearing a quite dramatic blood red coat-dress; a full skirt blossomed under the waist belt and covered her legs up to her knees. It was a romantic and chic attire, which she wore with natural elegance.

Chuck lowered the glass and placed it on the table without averting his eyes from her. "You look like a dream," he told her, instinctively leaning in on his seat as she approached.

Blair stopped by the side of the couch. "It's what Dior couture does to a woman," she replied with a shrug.

When her hand came to rest on his shoulder, Chuck took her by her waist and swiftly pulled her onto his lap. "I thought it was wedded bliss," he pointed out, his voice tinged with a tad of irony a vague peeve. He made his hand slid under the wide skirt and grasped her leg possessively.

She raised her eyebrows at him with amusement. "Are you jealous of a dress, Bass?"

The look of enjoyment on her face made him smirk. He squeezed her tighter into his embrace and captured her lips in a kiss. "I'm jealous of everything that makes you glow if it's not me."

Blair shook her head lightly. He was expecting a witty reply, but she surprised him with a tender gesture; she brought her hand to his face and gently pressed her palm against his cheek, guiding him to rest his head on her chest.

Chuck closed his eyes, his forehead laid against the soft red fabric, and inhaled a deep breath.

"It is you," she told him quietly as her fingers trailed up to his hair. "It's always you."

Inexplicably her words made him quiver. He suddenly felt overwhelmed by an emotion he couldn't recognize; he wasn't able to tell if it was pleasant, painful or both. It didn't have a name or a meaning; it was just dizzying and weakening in a way that obligated him to hang on to her.

Blair's arms wrapped him. Her hands, stuck firmly on his jacket, arrested the shiver running down his spine, allowing him to let out the breath he was holding. Chuck felt the touch of her lips on the top of his head and her embrace becoming stronger around him.

Her wordless comfort was a safe refuge. Whatever his heart was racing from, it abandoned him slowly, as, little by little, he regained control of himself.

When he moved his forehead away from the shelter of her chest and glanced up at her, Blair had an indefinable expression; it was tough, reassuring, hurting. Breathtaking.

One of her arms unclenched his back; she lifted her now free hand to his face and brushed her fingers lightly against his eyes. It was only when his eyelids closed at her touch that he realized the dampness of tears over his cheek.

Unconcern about their nature, whether they were tears of ache or joy, whether they were relieved or full of blame, Blair wiped them away with the tip of her index and smiled down at him. "You're okay," she said softly. "We both are."

The lack of judgement in her tone, the way its lightness seemed to forget the moment of bare fragility that had just caught him, reminded Chuck that her presence and her love were the only things that truly mattered to him. All the rest – his twisted feelings and his inadequacy facing them – had to be flushed out.

Guided by that thought, he took her hand in his and brought it to his mouth. He canceled the salty traces of his tears by kissing her fingers one by one and, at last, he gripped her palm as if to show her that strength had come back to give force to his touches; to let her know he could protect her as well, to prove he wouldn't have crumbled down – not with her by his side.

Chuck locked eyes with her. "We are," he pronounced slowly and, as he did, he promised himself he would have always allowed her to compensate for his limits, because the trust he had in her was what would have given him the courage to never stop defending their hard-earned happiness.

* * *

 **Notes:**

 **[1]** Some of my readers might feel as Chuck's characterization in this chapter is somehow a digression. We see him being totally absorbed by Blair - his feelings and his thoughts are only for her. Chuck had to work hard to find his own stability and to learn that his life was worthy even without Blair (season 5 was, after all, about this necessary growth) and he painfully did; it's not my intention to ignore it. In this phase, though, the most realistic option is, according to me, a momentary regression to his "emotional dependence" from Blair. It's the most immediate reaction to the traumatic experience he has just lived. As I previously mentioned, his emotions are almost completely blocked in a sort of denial in this moment and Blair manages to break through it - especially on a physical level. Only at the end of the chapter, we see feelings winning over Chuck's defences; and yet, they're confused and barely recognized.

 **[2]** Since this project is full of details, I'm going to post a picspam on Tumblr for each chapter, showing outfits and locations. Every detail has been accurately researched and it makes me happy to be able to give you the chance to visualize everything more clearly through images. You're going to find the picspam on my Tumblr page under the tag "Journey To Glory".

 **[3]** I'm currently working on the first chapter. As I said, this is a pretty detailed project and it takes long to write. I hope my writes will be patient!


	3. Chapter 1 – Lech am Arlberg

**Chapter One - Lech am Arlberg**

* * *

" _Nothing's gonna hurt you, baby;_

 _as long as you're with me, you'll be just fine._

 _Nothing's gonna hurt you baby;_

 _nothing's gonna take you from my side."_ **[5]**

* * *

 **Innsbruck, December 14th, 2012**

The jet landed at night, accompanied to the ground by the last, mild waves of a snowfall. Captured by that unexpected show, Blair seemed to have forgotten her curiosity about the place they had just reached. Her eyes, wide open with candid enthusiasm, shimmered at the sight of the snow.

She was smiling. It was the enchanted smile of a dreamer, Chuck thought, as, putting on his coat, he stared at her; a smile that had something juvenile about it, a genuine thirst for what was beautiful and idyllic. Contradicting her cunning personality, the greed of her ambition and the subtle deviousness of her mind, her most romantic side sometimes came out to surprise him.

Chuck couldn't understand the allure of perfection. His cynicism, fed by a life of bitterness, couldn't see past the reality of things; if her eyes were able to grasp the value of a flawless moment, his weren't. Blair glimpsed magic in the way snowflakes fell slowly behind the plane's round windows, he simply saw frozen water.

But her idealism, the way she persevered to seek for a sparkle of charm even in the darkest and ugliest things, was in part what had led them to find their way back to each other. She had cultivated the dream of their life together with determination and courage; sometimes, she had been strong enough to believe in it and persist for both of them. And even when weakness had caught her, even when she had forced herself to stop hoping they would have made it, he had done it for her, guided by what she had taught him about love.

Blair turned and grinned when she noticed he was looking at her. "It's snowing, Chuck," she said in a dreamy voice. "Did you see?"

Chuck smiled back. He leaned in and slid his arm around her waist kissing her cheek. "I did," he replied. "You'll have to agree with me that my surprise has already managed to satisfy you," he added with a pinch of pride. "You look happy."

She let out a soft laugh. "Are you going to take credit for the snowfall now?" she asked, irony tickling her words. "I'm sorry to hurt your fragile ego, but I must remind you that you have no power over the weather."

He eyed her for a moment, before reaching out to the side of her face and tucking a curl behind her ear. "I picked the place," he claimed. "I'm going to take the credit for each thing that you'll enjoy," he raised his eyebrows at her, a satisfied smirk on his lips. "And I'm sure it'll be everything."

Chortling, Blair took the hand he had rested on her cheek and lowered it to her lap, giving it a tight squeeze. "Get over yourself, Bass," she told him. "I still have no idea where we are."

Chuck lowered his gaze. He gradually slid his fingers over her palm out of her grip, only to clutch her hand again and guide it to his lips. His mouth lingered on her wrist in a kiss that was both a sign of devotion and desire.

There wasn't a definitive line between the two feelings; they blurred together in his wish to arrive at the place he had chosen to set a nest of intimacy and loneliness for them. Isolated from everything, he would have had the chance to fully dedicate himself to her; to worship her, to bask in her presence, to have everything of her: her body, her thoughts, her soul, her love.

"Let's find out then," he told her in a whisper, his lips still skimming over her skin. He placed another kiss over her palm before looking up at her.

She was beaming at him, her eyes full of excitement. Her gaze rested on his face for the split of a second; then, abruptly, she stood up and, pulling his arm, she forced him to do the same.

Without pronouncing a word, she rapidly led him through the cabin to the exit door. Chuck, made unusually docile by her spontaneous liveliness, followed her lead with a pleased smile; her enthusiasm was already a small conquest.

* * *

The moment the hold door opened, Blair felt a waft of icy wind stinging her cheeks. Her eyes went shut, keeping her from glimpsing the sight in front of her. A sudden shiver forced her to let go of Chuck's hand and tighten the collar of her coat-dress before she could lift her eyelids again.

Chuck placed his arm on her shoulders. "Do you think you can guess where we are?" he asked her, a pleased note in his voice.

Blair looked around. Standing on the top of the stairs that connected the plane to the ground gave her a perfect view of the landing strip and allowed her to catch the details she had missed during the last minutes of the flight. She realized, as her eyes embraced the scenery, that the Alps, over which they had flown during the past hour, were now all around them; the airport was, indeed, nestled and encircled by them.

She smiled at the panorama, forgetting the frigid temperature for a moment. Her estimates had turned out to be accurate, she determined. "Of course," she said satisfied, thinking of what she had written on the post-it that was now safely kept in Chuck's wallet. "It still might be Switzerland, but my bet is definitely on Austria."

Chuck smirked down at her, his hand squeezing her shoulder. "Correct," he replied. "To be more accurate, we're in Innsbruck," he added. Then, leaning in, he whispered into her ear: "For now, at least."

Blair frowned. "For now?" she echoed him perplexed. She had meant to sound bothered at the thought that she still had to wait to know where he was taking her, but her voice surrendered to the cold air tightening her throat, and the trace of annoyance that was supposed to tinge her question faded in a shudder.

Her husband didn't miss it. He climbed down a step and placed himself in front of her. "That dress is too light," he stated with a vaguely worried expression, placing his hands on her arms as if to shelter from the wind. She watched as he quickly slipped off his coat and smiled when he carefully wrapped it around her and adjusted it over her shoulders.

Touched by the tender gesture, Blair offered him a loving look. "Chuck," she uttered his name softly, reaching out to his face to cup his cheek. "You'll freeze."

At the contact of her fingers running along his jaw in a delicate caress, Chuck shyly glanced down. "It's just a small sacrifice. It's worth it, if it keeps my bride warm."

Her smile widened. The sacrifice wasn't, to her eyes, as insignificant as he made it sound. Each of his selfless act was special to her, for she knew that his kindness, his most gentle side, was a treasure reserved solely to her. Without averting her eyes from him, she laced her arms around his waist and covered him as much as she could with the fabric of the coat he had given her, pressing her body tightly against his.

She rested her cheek on the top of his chest and inhaled a deep breath as she felt his hands sliding to her back. Though a few snowflakes were still falling over their heads and the wintery breeze of Austrian Alps caused their bodies to quiver in protest, they remained clutched in that silent embrace for a few seconds.

It was with hesitance that Blair finally looked up to glance over his shoulder and saw a chauffeur standing at the bottom of the steps. The man, whom, distracted by the view, she hadn't noticed before, was obviously doing his best not to look at them and be discrete.

"Chuck," she called her husband reluctantly, her voice languorous and barely higher than a whisper. She moved her head and rubbed her forehead against the jacket of his suit. "We should go," she said through a giggle. "The driver is waiting."

Chuck's hands slithered down the small of her back and grasped around the fabric of her skirt. Even if she couldn't see his face, since he had buried it into her shoulder, she knew he was smirking. "Let him wait," he replied.

Blair sighed. His palms held on to her dress with firmness that expressed its contrary: the insecurity, the irrational fear that, if he hadn't clung to her so tightly, she would have disappeared. His was the pretense of a child; protracted with the only purpose of prolonging each moment till it was permeated with the certainness of her presence.

She reached out to his chin and pushed his head up to force him to look at her. Though she couldn't stop a smile from curling her lips in front of his sly expression, she gave him a resolute look. "Move, Bass," she demanded. "We're standing under the snow, while I'm sure a warm and comfortable hotel bedroom is waiting for us. Plus," she raised her eyebrows at him, "I have no intention of spending the first days of my honeymoon nursing you through the cold you'll definitely catch."

A slight frown crumpled his forehead. "Would it be too bad?"

She chortled at his vaguely outraged question. "Worse than bad," she replied playfully. "It'd be dreadful."

Chuck rolled his eyes. Huffing, let go of her waist with an unhurried and indolent movement. "Fine," he replied, taking her hand into his. She smiled satisfied at him and let him guide her down the stairs.

Once on the ground, they were greeted by the driver. Blair, though, didn't pay attention to his welcoming. Something odd had occurred to her the moment she had climbed the last step: there wasn't a car ready for them on the landing strip as it should have been; the only vehicle she could see was a small golf-cart.

Frowning, Blair freed herself from the grip of Chuck's hand a took a step toward the man. "Excuse me," she interrupted him. "Where is our car?"

The chauffeur looked back at her disordered. "The car, Mrs. Bass?"

"Yes, the car," she restated. Her lips pursed in annoyance in front of the man's growing confusion. "We obviously won't leave the airport on that," she explained, waving her hand towards the cart.

The sound of Chuck's barely held back chortle forced her to turn to face him. Realizing his face had a visibly amused expression, she scowled at him. "We _aren't_ ," she told him in her most authoritarian tone, and her eyes narrowed to give her statement the value of a threat. "Right, _Charles_?"

The hint of a smirk rose to his lips before her stare. She saw him giving the chauffeur a slight dismissing nod before reaching out to her waist. "Blair, darling," he said in a tone that was so strangely gentle that made her look daggers at him, "this man is not a driver. He's a pilot. I'm afraid the place we're heading to can't be reached by car; we'll have to take an helicopter to get there."

Blair looked back him in shock. In front of his calm and secure pose, her gaze filled with a mix of anxiety and anger. She hated helicopters; there was something about them that made her feel terribly uncomfortable: they gave her the irrational, unpleasant feeling of not being in control, of being confined in a state of precariousness. "Absolutely not. I'm not —"

"I know you don't like it," Chuck interrupted her, his hands clutching her sides with more strength, "but I promise you it'll be worth it." He paused to pull her closer and, lacing an arm around her, he started running his fingers up and down her back in slow, comforting caresses.

Suddenly feeling ashamed of her fear and unable to hold his gaze, she glanced down. "I detest helicopters," she murmured.

She felt his indulgent, understanding eyes on her. "I know," he repeated. "And I wouldn't ask you to take one if it wasn't the only way to reach the place," he assured her. He leaned in and placed a kiss on the top of her head. "Unless you prefer a two hours' car trip," he added in a whisper, "and then a cable cart ride, of course."

Blair pulled back and frowned at him. "At this hour?" she questioned, and her lips puckered in disgust. "In the cold? And after so many people took it during the day? That's gross. And, certainly, not an option."

Chuck laughed. "My thoughts exactly," he answered. Then, shooting her an eloquent look, he asked: "Do you realize I've just given you a quite relevant clue about our destination?"

She giggled at the question. "Just because you're an excellent negotiator," she pointed out. Smiling at him, she sensed fear fading, soothed by his patience. "You know you need to concede something if you want to reach your goals."

"That's not how I negotiate," he retorted proudly. "I don't concede. I demand and then I win. But you," he rapidly trapped her back in his arms, "you're an exception."

That was precisely how he made her feel, Blair thought, as, answering to his declaration with a kiss, she dug her hands into his hair: _exceptional_.

* * *

The flight lasted about forty minutes. Blair spent each of them holding on to her husband, hidden in his embrace with her head laid over his shoulder. In spite of his attempts to encourage her to look at the sight out of the windows, she categorically refused to do so.

As the helicopter begun to descend to the ground in large circles, she clung to Chuck's arm as strongly as she could, her fingers gripping the fabric of his jacket in a rush of uncontrollable fear. She held her breath and, getting as close to him as the safety bell allowed her, she buried her face into his chest. "I hate you, Chuck," she declared. Her voice came out something in between irate and childish. "I hate you _so much_."

She heard him chortle. "No, you don't. You love me," he replied, as, thoughtfully, he stroked her back. "Actually," he reached out to her hand and gently freed the sleeve of his suit from her grasp, "you'd love me even more if you listened to me and peeked out."

Blair felt his palms sliding over hers and his fingers finding a way through her tensed ones, till he managed to wave their hands together. At his firm yet delicate squeeze, she convinced herself to glance up on him.

Chuck was smirking down at her; a pleased but kind oblique smile that gave her a sense of safety. "I wouldn't miss the chance to finally lay your eyes on the place I picked for us if I were you," he said, resting his free hand under her chin and lifting it slightly to kiss her. She gave in to the brief contact of his lips and closed her eyes. "It's getting closer underneath our feet."

In spite of anxiety, Blair found herself smiling back at him and at the thought that he knew exactly how to encourage her; with his innate ability to understand her, he was aware that no fear was deeper or stronger than her desire to know, to feed the curiosity whose hunger didn't allow her to be in control. She heaved a long sigh before lifting her eyelids again. "Fine," she said. Meeting his self-satisfied expression as she deliberately pulled herself upright, she shook her head a little. "But I warn you: I'm never going to take this thing again."

Chuck ignored her. Instead of answering to her statement, he patted his hand on her shoulder. "Come on," he nodded his head towards the window, "look out."

Blair shot him a bothered look before turning her head to side. She cautiously detached herself from him and stretched her neck to shoot a glance at the view.

She was left stunned by what she saw when she did. Right under them, brushed by the helicopter's lights, there was a large chalet; its bricks and wood façade overlooked the small open space where they were about to land and the warm glow coming from behind the building's windows reflected on the outdoor hot-tub on the porch. It was completely isolated: expect for the path that, from the clearing space dedicated to the landing, led to the house, Blair couldn't see any other ways to access the place.

When she turned to look at her husband, her eyes were wide and twinkling with eagerness; overcome by joy and enthusiasm, she completely forgot how unease she had felt till that moment. "You rented it for us?" she wondered ecstatically.

Chuck looked at her prideful for a moment. Then, with the appearance of a barely hinted shy smile, his expression changed. The satisfaction showing on his face softened in a calm look; he gazed at her serious and loving when, slowly, he rested his palm on her knee and rubbed his thumb over it. "I just thought we needed a place to hide," he told her after, "somewhere unreachable."

Blair beamed. She reached out to his face and cupped his cheek. "It's perfect, Chuck," she commented. "Safe," she added, "and quiet."

Realizing the longing for intimacy that had led him to pick such an inaccessible location was had left her with the renewed awareness of his brittleness. His choice was a tacit confession of need; she could read the necessity of her closeness between its lines and the fear of parting from her.

No one could get to them up there; nobody could question his love for her, nobody could take her away from him. Nobody could remind him of the world that existed around them; hidden inside that chalet, he could have pretended that their life was always going to be like that: just them, sheltered from every excruciating experience they had ever lived.

Trapping her shoulders with his arms and pulling her closer again, Chuck searched her face with loving, steady eyes, as if to detect a sign of uncertainness. "Do you really like the idea?" he questioned her in a low voice. "If you feel up to go out, it won't be a problem," he clarified, his voice shaken by a note of insecurity. "We're in the Lech am Arlberg's district. It's by far the best ski resort of the Alps, I'm sure there are places that won't disappoint you."

Blair glanced down for a moment before shaking her head. She guided her hand to his face and traced the line of his jaw till his mouth. "I don't need to go anywhere, Chuck," she said, pressing two fingers against his lips to keep him from speaking. "I just want to be alone with you."

Neither of them noticed the slight jolt that followed her words; they realized the helicopter had landed only when they heard the pilot's voice warning them that they had reached their destination. Not a trace of fear was left in Blair's heart; there wasn't space for anything but the warmth of what she felt for him.

* * *

Getting off the helicopter hand in hand, Chuck and Blair found the chalet's manager waiting to receive them. The woman introduced herself as Ingrid and politely asked them about the journey before asking them to follow her to the house's entrance.

When Blair, impatient to get inside, took a step forward along the short path leading to the front door, Chuck promptly came up behind her and laced his arm around her waist.

Blair eyed him over her shoulder. "Are you afraid I might slip away from you, Bass?" she teased him as he settled himself by her side.

He let out a chortle. "I am indeed worried you might slip. Not ' _away from me_ ' for sure, but on this icy ground?" he darted a glance at the pointed toe stiletto pumps at her feet and smirked. "Definitely."

Blair rolled her eyes at him and, without replying, she started walking again. Yet, he felt his chest filling with satisfaction when, as the strolled slowly, she clung tighter to him, a vague smile curving her lips to let him know that he had her full, tacit trust.

Soon they reached the terrace, where the main door was. "Mr. and Mrs. Bass, welcome to _Chalet Überhaus_ ," Ingrid said, opening the door. She kept them open for them as Chuck and Blair stepped inside the sophisticatedly furnished entrance hall.

Chuck watched Blair run her eyes all around the room and rejoiced in her expression as she looked upon the wood sheets paneling the walls, the exposed wooden beams covering the ceiling and the fireplace; she looked absolutely charmed by the environment and, once again, he found himself in awe with her ability to grasp and appreciate beauty. She was born to live surrounded by everything that was exquisite; and he felt compelled to make her experience the most superb things.

"It has such a warm and cozy atmosphere," Blair said cheerfully, turning her face to look at him and show him her bright beam. "It looks like one of those mountain huts."

"It used to be, Mrs. Bass," the manager interrupted her. "It was a big refuge for skiers before the owners bought it and expanded it. They decided to entrust our agency with the ranting after the renovations. It was smart of them to maintain the rustic vibe of the original building, though."

"It was indeed," Blair commented. She pulled away from Chuck to observe the room better and span around slowly as she took a few steps towards the console table at her left. She slid her palm over its surface with a smile and casted a glance at her husband. "This place is truly a jewel."

Pacing up to where she was standing, Chuck smiled back at her. "I'm glad you like it," he told her. Pulling her back into his arms, he stole a brief, eager kiss from her before placing his lips on the side of her neck just below her earlobe. "We might escape here every time we feel like we're bored with the world," he murmured. "It might become our refuge."

"Chuck," Blair chortled, playfully tilting her head to side to escape the insistence of his mouth pressed against her skin, "we're not alone," she said in a whisper, "we should let Ingrid show us around. I'm sure she wants to."

Chuck closed his eyes for a moment and took the time to breath in her scent; then, pulling back reluctantly, he heaved a deep sigh. She grinned at him as he rubbed his hands over her forearms in a rather possessive way, careful to let her know with his touch that he couldn't wait to be alone with her.

"My wife wants a tour of the house," he finally told the manager without averting his eyes from Blair.

"Of course, Mr. Bass," Ingrid replied with a nod. "Follow me."

Chuck and Blair exchanged one last look before following the woman up the stairs to the first floor.

Twenty minutes later, after having seen each of the four floors, they were led into the dining room area, where a long wooden table had been set for dinner.

Entering the room, Blair was ecstatic. She was utterly in love with the chalet; it was a heavenly place, an inaccessible nest of quietness and peace. In spite of its isolated position, though, the house certainly didn't lack of comfort: she had found out with great pleasure that, among other stylishly decorated and large spaces, the facilities included a spa area, a dedicated cinema room, a wine cellar and an outdoor hot-tub.

On the top of that, they were granted with absolute privacy. As Ingrid had explained her, Chuck had demanded for the staff to come only at certain given hours: a chef would have been there three times a day to serve them meals and a housekeeper would have come each morning to clean and tidy up. Other than that, no one would have accessed the propriety if not under their instruction,

Once they reached the table, the manager invited them to take a seat and, as they made themselves comfortable in front of the fireplace that divided the dining area from the living one, she reached out to the wine bucket to take the champagne settled inside and pour some into their flutes.

Lifting his hand, Chuck interrupted her before she could fill his glass. "Is it the one I requested?" he questioned.

"Yes, sir," Ingrid assured him. "It's a _Dom Pérignon_ 1995\. As you asked, there are a few bottles of it stored in the cellar."

Chuck made a slight gesture with his hand, silently allowing her to serve him; after she did, he brought the flute to his lips and took a short sip. It was only when he nodded at her that the woman proceeded to pour the sparkling wine into Blair's flute.

Blair smiled at Chuck before taking a taste as well. She savored the champagne for a moment and then exhaled a pleased sigh. "It's my absolute favorite," she told him.

A complacent smirk tilted up the corners of his mouth. "I'm well aware," he told her. "That is why I demanded it. There's nothing I enjoy more than satisfying your impeccably exigent taste."

Blair's gaze lingered on his smug expression; without breaking the eye-contact, she brought the flute to her lips one more time and took another short sip. She stretched her leg a little under the table, casually brushing her ankle against his calf, and smirked back satisfied when she saw his lips pursing at the touch. "Ingrid," still staring at Chuck with pleased eyes, she spoke to the manager, "you may go now. We won't need your services anymore for today."

The woman bowed her head. "I'll leave you in the capable hands of our chef, then," she replied. "Your luggage has already been unpacked and set in the master bedroom, but feel free to call me if you need anything."

Her lips hidden behind the crystal flute, Blair raised her eyebrows at her husband with the intention of teasing him. His gaze rested motionless and sharp on her, as he couldn't physically bring himself to look at anything else and being the center of his attention gave her the most vivid satisfaction. Observing him basking in the sight of her made her feel adored and in control.

"We won't," Chuck stated, his voice low and terse, tinged with barely contained impatience.

Dismissed, the manager left. As soon as she did, Blair reached out to Chuck's hand over the table. "You know," she uttered sweetly," I think you haven't considered the dangers of spoiling me so much. I'll end up getting used to all this."

Chuck, who hadn't stopped staring at her, squeezed her fingers lightly and eyed her a second more before speaking. "Do," he replied haughtily, raising his flute slightly as if to mark his own words with a toast. "Getting used to this is exactly what you're supposed to do. What's the point of taking you on a honeymoon if it doesn't give you an idea of the life I plan on giving you?"

Blair leaned over, silently demanding for him to do the same with a luring look. He followed her movement and, when he was close enough for her to brush her lips against his, she murmured: "How pretentious of you."

Chuck didn't wait another moment to capture her mouth in a deep, slow kiss. Eyes closed, Blair enjoyed every second of it; it was only when she felt breathless that she pulled back. Parting from his lips, she lightly grabbed onto his tongue for just a moment; the small bite, which she knew he adored, fired up his gaze with tension and eagerness, leaving her with the satisfaction that provoking him always granted him.

"Why don't we just skip to dessert?" he asked. His hand, which was still holding hers, clutched her fingers tighter.

Blair laughed softly. "Because pleasure is all in the waiting," she told him, shooting him an eloquent look. "And because I'm sure they prepared a lavish dinner for us; not enjoying it would be such a waste, don't you think?"

He smirked at her statement. "I agree," he replied. He turned her hand into his hold and skimmed his fingers lightly over her wrist. Then, suddenly, he stopped and glanced up at her. "Though I'd rather eat something else," he told her. He leaned in and, slowly, he guided her hand to his mouth; his lips lingered over the spots his fingers had already traced and kissed her skin, careful to tease it with the tip of his tongue. "Something only you can give me," he whispered against the side of her wrist.

The allusion of his words and gesture should have made her blush instantly, Blair realized, staring back at him; she should have lowered her gaze and smile secretly at his obvious suggestion, but she didn't. He had always had the power to make her feel shameless, to free her from any sense of decency. So she smirked back at him and gently bit her lower lip before promising him that sweetest course would have come at the end of the meal.

* * *

For dinner, the chef served veal accompanied by parsley potatoes and pears, followed by _Sachertorte_ for dessert. In spite of the overeager promise they had made each other before eating, Chuck and Blair savored their meal calmly, enjoying the quiet atmosphere. They spoke softly over the muffled sound of the crackling fireplace about the beauty of the place they were now hidden into and confessed each other once again the sense of relief they felt at the thought of being able to live a few days of solitude.

After they had taken the last bites of their slices of cake, the cook stepped into the room to check on them and clear the table; Chuck thanked him for the delicious food with a generous tip and then dismissed him, making sure to remind him not to come before nine the following morning.

"If you don't mind," Blair told her husband after the man had left, "I'm going to go freshen up."

Chuck's eyebrows furrowed in a frown. "Why?" he asked, darting her a perplexed glance. To him, she obviously didn't need to; in spite of the vague tiredness showing on her face, she looked perfect to his eyes. Plus, he wasn't fond of the idea of seeing her disappearing upstairs. "You don't have to."

Chortling, Blair shook her head. She clasped his hand over the table and smiled at him. "Trust me," she said to him, "I do. I promise you'll be pleased with my change of outfit."

"I don't see the necessity," he objected with a smirk. Now that they had consumed dinner, he was more than anxious to translate the words they exchanged before into action. "My plans for our night don't include you wearing clothes."

Blair's smile turned oblique as she gazed at him. "Packaging is an essential part to every great gift, Chuck," she uttered her teasingly admonishment slowly. "Plus," she pushed her chair back staring back at him, "who said anything about clothes?"

With that elusive question, to which Chuck didn't get the chance to reply with anything more than an intrigued, sharp look, Blair stood up; she left him at the table to stare at her as she paced past the separator wall housing the fireplace. When she was about to walk past it into the living room, she stopped to shoot him one last seductive glance over her shoulder. "I'll be right back to you," she assured him before vanishing out of his sight.

Chuck's stare stayed motionless on the spot she had just left one second more. Then, nodding his head, he giggled. "I'll be waiting," he whispered amused to himself.

He poured himself a drink and then made his way to the lounge; there, he sat on the couch trying to suffocate his impatience with short sips of single malt, clutching the glass in his grip. The temptation of reaching her in the master bedroom was a shrill ache blended with pleasure; remaining there and picturing in his mind what she was doing upstairs was almost unbearable.

Yet, the thought of her deliberate gestures as she got ready for him was intoxicating. The blurred images he could picture closing his eyes were enough to leave him out of breath – and not simply because his imagination could have drawn every inch of her body with the most absolute precision.

Above all, he was electrified by her self-confidence. Blair was fully conscious of her unique ability to please him; she knew she had the power of inebriating him, of domination over his self-control and rule over his reactions. She used that talent intentionally, with complete awareness; with a brazen satisfaction and pride that gave her, to his eyes, an irresistible magnetism.

This way, she had made their wedding night his. Though he knew she had enjoyed it completely, he also knew that, more than anything, he had been driven by a suffocating need for her. He had been greedy for feeling he belonged to her, for her strength, for the way she had of nourishing him with her passion, of making him feel in touch with his life.

Blair had indulged that impulse; she had responded to his voracity with an equal eagerness, longing for finding further confirm that she was the one and only who could reach out to him so deeply. His need had fed hers in a cathartic, liberating act.

But he wanted tonight to be different, he thought; this time, he wanted it to be all about her. He desired to feel that he had the same power over her, that he could give her the same delight she gave him, the same happiness. He wanted to worship her body, to dedicate himself to it and to its craves fully; to give her, also through sex, the experience of a bliss that was whole, that didn't know compromises.

* * *

It took Blair almost half an hour to appear on the top of the stairs. The moment his eyes embraced her figure, though, Chuck realized that each moment he had spent in anticipation had been worth it; the pain of those long minutes was immediately paid back by the sight of her.

She climbed the steps slowly, her fingers gliding over the handrail as she came down, letting him enjoy the way the sheer black lace kaftan she was wearing fell over her curves and brushed against her legs at every movement. Although it covered her till her ankles, he fabric was entirely see-through; behind the fine embroideries, he could glimpse the black lingerie set she had picked.

He followed her speechless with his gaze as she approached him. She had worn high heels to match her attire and the sound of each tap over the hardwood floor made his mouth turn more and more arid. When she stopped in front of him, it was completely dry.

"So," Blair whispered, leaning over to wrap her arms around his neck, "do you still think a change of outfit wasn't needed?" She started toying with the hair on the back of his head, her fingers scratching lightly the nape of his neck.

Shivering at the touch, Chuck swallowed hard. "No," he replied, and his voice came out hoarse, suffocated by the growing tension he could feel spreading across his body. Tilting his head back to look up at her with wide open eyes, he instinctively rested his palms over her hips.

Blair smiled satisfied at him. "You should always trust your wife, Chuck," she uttered, as her hands trailed up through his hair stroking it.

Chuck clutched her sides tighter and, for a moment, he forgot his purpose. He was once again taken by the impellent need to have her immediately: fervently, forgetting every slowness.

He could; there was nothing that stopped him from doing so – certainly not Blair, whose gaze were full of the same delirious lust he could barely contain himself. He closed his eyes for a moment, taking a deep breath.

He could, but he wasn't going to: he had promised himself he would have conceded himself to her without any selfishness; that he would have put her on a pedestal and venerated her as she deserved.

He lifted his hooded eyelids to look at her again. "I do," he told her. He lowered his gaze for a second, caressing her hip lightly with the back of his hand. "But trust _me_ now," he kept on, glancing up at her. His lips stretched in a smile as he looked lovingly at her. "Allow me to honor you."  
He leaned forward and, resting his forehead under her breasts, he ran his hands along her sides and placed a kiss on the top of her stomach; lace brushed against his mouth, making his fingers shudder in anticipation.

When he raised his eyes on her, her lips were slightly parted and her cheeks blushed. She stared at him in silence for a moment. Her expression was full of emotion as she realized that she was now utterly exposed in front of him, that she was going to abandon herself with no resistance to the passion of his intentions; and yet, Chuck found out searching her face, there was no trace of tension in her pose. Her smile, now delicate, bare in front of his gaze, had softened but hadn't lost a bit of its confidence. "I trust you," she promised.

The unequivocal truth of her tone – deliberate, secure – led him to slid his palms over her waist. Unhurried, his fingers found the bow the robe's belt was knotted into; he undid it carefully, revealing the embroidered waspie that covered her stomach. He smirked at the sight of it and continued to guide his hands under the now open kaftan to her back; there, he met the little hooks keeping the suspender belt squeezed around her. Blair gasped when he took care of the one at the bottom and he felt her fingers clutching his hair tighter as he proceeded to gradually free her from each tie. Unbuttoned, the waspie fell at her feet.

Embracing her bare back with open palms, Chuck could feel her accelerated breaths and her skin burning under his exasperatedly slow touches. He looked up at her and saw that her eyes were shut; her neck was stretched back in a spasm of impatience; her teeth were biting her lower lip, pressed tightly against it with the pleasure and the ache of his lack of rush.

Her shoulders quivered and contracted when he finally shoved the robe off of her. "Blair," he pronounced her name huskily, "look at me."

A soft moan escaped her lips as she moved her head to answer to his request; glancing down at him, her eyes were glistening with desire. Chuck laced his arms around her and pulled her onto his lap to kiss her. "I love you," he told her against her lips, cupping her cheek with his palm.

Blair reached out to his wrist with an abrupt movement. She clasped it and lowered his hand to the edge of her panties. "Show me," she replied in a chocked murmur, "show me how much."

Her pleading request strangled his voice; aroused by the way she was conceding herself to him so defenselessly, with so much trust in him, he found himself unable to break through his own involuntary silence. Dazed, Chuck answered to her frantic beg with another kiss; deepening it, he pushed his tongue through her open mouth and liberated his hand from her desperate grip.

He slid his fingers along her hip before slithering them over her leg to her inner thigh. Blair let out a muffled sound of pleasure when he pushed his fingertips over her skin; it was silky, damp with sweat beneath his pressing touches, and Chuck took excruciating pleasure in her fidgeting twitch when she gripped the collar of his shirt and dragged him down, imposing him to lay her on the couch's pillows.

Chuck obeyed to her movement and settled himself on top of her. For the split of a second he couldn't move; filled with piercing rapture, he had to stop and stare down at her. Her hair was spread across the pillow in a tangle of rebel curls and traces of the red lipstick his kisses had brushed away from her quivering lips stained her chin like traces of his love over her flesh. She looked savage, so different from the goddess of perfection that had climbed down the steps towards him only a few minutes ago; surrendering to him had transformed her features, sharpened them.

Overwhelmed by the sight of her, Chuck bent over and insinuated his palms under her arched back. He quickly removed her bra and tossed it away before drowning in face into the crook of her tensed neck and tracing a trail of kisses along its side up to her jaw.

Restless, Blair threw her head back and brought her hands to his back; her fingers curled into clasped fists around the silk of his shirt. "Chuck," she whimpered, her legs tangling firmly around his waist.

Chuck smirked, feeling the graze of her heels on his back. "No rush," he hissed, his breath tickling her earlobe. Slowly, his lips drifted down to the top of her throat and placed a kiss on the top of it. With his tongue, he started following the line of her neck; her skin had the salty taste of sweat and, going down, he relished each of her most sensitive spots.

By the time he reached her chest, she was crying out his name incoherently in between unrepressed moans; her legs had spread, one clung to couch's backrest and the other dangling over its edge, leaving him full liberty to move.

Encouraged by the way her body responded to him, Chuck brushed his lips in between her breasts; after lingering there for a moment, he placed his lips on her right nipple and liked it before sucking it gently. He could feel Blair's nails plunging into the nape of her neck and the burning of the scratches she was leaving over his skin made him groan; it took him every bit of his self-control to keep on with his mission and ignore the intense urgency of getting rid of his pants and end is own agony by finally slipping inside of her. Resisting the impulse, he moved his mouth to her left breast and savored it as well before he started going further down on her along her stomach.

Blair's back had a spasm and arched even more when his tongue teased her bellybutton; her hands were now sunk into his hair and he felt the pressure of her shuddering palms pushing him below, urging him to finally get in between her legs.

As he removed her panties, making them slide along her legs in a single fluid movement, Chuck decided he was going to prolong her wait a bit longer. Instead of reaching her center, he moved his head to side and started kissing her groin; his lips captured her ablaze skin in a path of toothless bites till he began to make his way to her core.

When he did, when the tip of his tongue stroked the wet spot it had been yearning for, Blair paid him back with the priceless gift of her orgasm. She was shaken by ecstasy in his embrace and Chuck took pride in the whole expression of her climax. That gorgeous moment of pure euphoria belonged to him, just has she did: everything about her was his; her flesh, her mind, her heart. No one else but him would have dared to touch her body again – nobody had ever explored it the way he did, given it the same bliss, praised it with the same dedication and love.

After, he rested his head on her stomach catching his breath, his fingers toying lazily with her hand. Blair reached out to his head and started stroking his hair. "I love you, Chuck," she said in a brittle tone, "so much."

Realizing the ghost of a sob trailing off from the words, Chuck lifted his head and looked up at her. Tears were indeed falling down her cheeks; silent, tracing pale stripes over her flushed skin. "Blair?" Suddenly concerned, he sat up and bent over her. "What is it?" he asked, tucking a ruffled curl behind her ear as he cupped her face. "Why are you crying?"

Blair shook her head vigorously under his worried look. "Because I was so careless," she muttered. She rested her palms over his chest and her lowed lip trembled when she met his gaze; her eyes were wide and shimmering, darkened by a vague shadow of pain. She inhaled a deep breath. "I let you believe my heart didn't belong to you anymore," she looked down, shaking her head again. Her voice was a thin whisper now, shaky and fragile. "It wasn't true; I knew it wasn't true," she wept. "Not for a moment it belonged to someone else, Chuck. It's always been yours."

Chuck's mouth parted in surprise at that unexpected confession; puzzled, he stared down at her in silence for a moment, wondering how to answer to that statement. The sense of guilt he perceived in her expression and the rousing of heartbreaking memories forced him to close his eyes.

He asked himself if he should have lied and told her that he had never stopped believing she would have come back to him, that his faith in them – faith in himself, in his worth – had never wavered under the pressure of everything she had done to push him away and deny their love.

But it had; inexorably, painfully, it had. There had been a time he had thought he had lost her for good; that his life had lost the one thing that had ever given meaning to it, and he had felt doomed to an infernal life of hollowness and aridity.

Now, though, that unbearable ache had turned into the distant echo of a past he had decided to let go of. It was gone; his understanding and forgiveness had come in an inevitable way, immediate, lacking of compromises just like her determination in finding her way back into his life; and the fear of the unconditional trust he had in her had faded away bit by bit, erased by her patience and delicacy.

"I know," he simply told her. Determined to reassure her, he omitted the rest of his thoughts; he rubbed his thumb over her cheek, brushing the traces of tears away. "There's no need to —"

"You didn't back then," Blair interrupted him, her voice broken by another sob. "I married another man in front of you. You implored me not to and I still did."

Again, Chuck lowered his eyes, a sharp sigh escaping his lips. Inevitably, his gaze was drawn by her hand and by the wedding band he had slid over her annular three days ago. It wasn't made of platinum, gold or even of silver. The shape of a snake made it look almost illegitimate, erroneous; and yet, skimming his index over it in an instinctual gesture, he felt it burning with its unequivocal truth and absolute value. She might have married someone else before, but she had never had a husband. He was still her first: nothing about their union was fake; not his mistakes nor hers, not the complicated nature of their love. It was all extraordinarily real; true in its bliss and its darkness – complete, infinitely profound.

Caught by a surge of possessiveness, he silenced her with a deep kiss, greedy for the lips tears had turned humid and salty. "I made you my wife," he swore proudly when they parted. "You're mine forever. Nothing else matters now."

Blair had stopped crying; she looked calmer now, the hint of a sad smile tilting up the corners of her mouth. She guided her hand to his face and caressed it tenderly as her serious, loving eyes locked with his. "Still," she uttered, "you need to know I what I did – all of it – out of fear. I was scared."

Suddenly, Chuck knew he couldn't dare to hold her gaze and realize once again he could have done more to alleviate her fears and deserve her trust. The pinch of guilt burning down his throat forced him to hold his breath. "Of me?" he asked, his voice low and rough.

Blair heaved a long sigh. "No," she answered after, "not of you." Chuck sensed the pressure of her fingers trying to lift his chin and, following her touch, he found himself staring back at her again. Her gaze was deep and steady; placing her palms over his cheeks, she had the same melancholic smile he had averted his eyes from a moment ago. "I was scared that if had conceded myself to come back to you and then lost you, I wouldn't have survived it." She paused to take a deep breath and her fingers shuddered over his face. "I would have died, Chuck."

A shiver run down his spine, his chest aching with the love he felt for her. Tears were pricking at his eyes as well when, bowing his head, he rested his forehead against hers; left wordless by her admission, he wrapped his arms around her and clutched her as tight as he could in his embrace.

He could feel her heart beating faster under his ear, and his own pounding in his throat. "You're not going to lose me," he finally managed to promise her in a quivering voice.

A second passed before Blair nodded; he perceived the movement of her head as her hands trailed back to his hair. An utter, comforting silence followed his pledge. They remained immobile in that position, clung to each other, listening to the sound of their breaths regaining the regularity they had lost to lust and fear; and in that position that they fell asleep.

* * *

 **Lech am Arlberg, December 16th, 2012**

A spontaneous smile curled Blair's lips as, with her fingers, she slowly traced the side of Chuck's face. He didn't stir under her light touch; his eyes remained shut and not even the slightest movement made his parted lips purse. Staring at him lovingly as she ran her hand through his hair, she listened to the only sound breaking through the silence of the newly born evening: the one of his even breaths melting with the one of the warm water swirling around them.

He had been asleep for twenty minutes, his head laid against her chest and her arms laced around his waist. Relaxed after the afternoon they had spent in the spa area, he had dozed off while they watched the sunset from the outdoor heated tub they had soaked into.

More than the beauty of the view before her eyes, more than the privacy and the quiet atmosphere of their refuge surrounded by mountains, it was Chuck's placid expression that gave Blair calmness. Her gaze hadn't averted from him ever since she had sensed he was drifting into unconsciousness; as his words had blurred into an indistinct mumbling and the strokes of his hands along her legs had lost their strength, her embrace had become tighter, driven by the urge to shelter his frail peacefulness from what could have undermined it.

The threats that caused her to be ceaselessly and irremediably concerned were concrete. The night before, Blair had woken up with a start around four in the morning, only to understand that she had been dragged out of her sleep by Chuck's muttered words of fright and the clutch of his hands around her arm. It had taken her an entire minute to shake him out of his nightmare and, when she had finally seen him staring back at her, the look of his face had broken her.

Chuck didn't remember it. He had no recollection of how she had pulled into her hold and, wiping cold sweat away from his forehead, she had whispered calming words into his ears until he had fallen back asleep; and Blair had no intention of reminding him. Yet, her memory was clear, vivid to the point that, thinking back to the shock she had seen shuddering through his body, to the terror filling his disoriented eyes and the wild racing of his heart under her palm, she was scared of leaving him alone with his dreams.

Something cold suddenly pricked at Blair's nose, bringing her back to reality. She looked up and noticed that, lost in her thoughts, she hadn't realized that the sunset's warm colors had faded into a plain dark sky, covered by thick clouds; snow was slowly beginning to fall over the balcony.

With a sigh full of hesitance, Blair leaned in to wake her husband. "Chuck," she murmured, placing a kiss on his temple. A gasp escaped his parted mouth at the touch; he moved clumsily in her embrace, soaking deeper into the water. Looking down at him, she giggled; she tilted her head and pressed her lips against his jaw. "We should get back inside."

Chuck groaned. "Why?" he mumbled hoarsely, his eyes still shut. "Aren't you comfortable here?"

Blair's eyebrows raised in front of his languid, vaguely irritated expression. "Open your eyes, Bass," she told him through a chortle.

His lips pursed in annoyance as he heaved a deep, long sigh. Then, slowly, his eyelids fluttered open. Blair watched amused as he became conscious of the darkness around them and that he had lost track of time, a slight frown puckering his brow; when he turned his head to look at her over his shoulder, his eyes were unusually confused.

Blair ducked her head and kissed his forehead. "You fell asleep about half an hour ago," she explained, cupping his face with her hands, as her smile widened with tenderness. "I couldn't bring myself to wake you," she sighed again, "you looked so peaceful."

A pinch of shyness forced Chuck to lower his eyes, as a discrete tiny smile tilted up the corners of his lips. Incapable of commenting her words, for they spoke lovingly about a sign his vulnerability, he thanked her tact with a silent gesture. He lifted his arm out of the water and reached out to his face, meeting her hand; taking it in his, he slid his fingers through hers and squeezed her palm.

Searching his timid expression with her gaze, Blair felt overwhelmed by a deep sense of devotion. A couple of snowflakes had fallen over his forehead and immediately melted at the contact; they had turned into small rivulet of water gliding down his skin.

It came to her as she wiped them away with her free hand – just as she had the night before with the traces of his terror – that the power she had over his serenity was immense; it invested her with the bittersweet awareness of being indispensable, with the poignant joy and the deep responsibility that came with it. The memory of his nightmare came back to her mind carried by that thought; a cruel reminder that her ability to keep him safe wasn't immune to failure, that there were limits not even her unconditional love could overcome.

Blair's lips trembled a little. "I wish we never had to leave this place," she told him, skimming the tip of her index over his mouth. She concealed the sad note and the deep end of fear in her tone behind a touched smile. Her statement gave voice to the sense of fright she couldn't help but dwelling on as the moment they were going to leave the chalet got inevitably closer.

Sheltering Chuck while they were hidden from everything and everyone was easier, but the days they were spending there didn't belong to the reality of their life: its unavoidable challenges were waiting for them at the bottom of the mountains they had climbed to build their nest of peace and Blair knew that, once back to the world, the fear of losing him would have come back to weight on her chest heavier and sharper than it was now.

For once, Blair felt thankful that Chuck, still drowsy, hadn't caught the change of her expression. Unaware of the thoughts crossing her mind, he smirked, and she welcomed that sly smile with a loving look. "We can come back here anytime we want," he promised her, a certain shade of satisfaction glistening in his stare veiled by sleepiness.

He stretched his neck to reach for her lips and marked his words with a kiss. Blair gave in to the insistence of his tongue, parting her mouth to let him deepen the contact.

She closed her eyes when she felt the burning of tears clouding her sight. She couldn't afford to indulge her own fears, she wondered as Chuck turned into her embrace to face her and wrapped his arm around her waist. She would have always found in her heart the strength to take care of him; it didn't matter where they were, she convinced herself: she knew she could have turned every place into their – into _his_ – safe one. She had to.

* * *

 **Lech am Arlberg, December 18th, 2012**

The day before the departure, Blair woke up alone. She perceived Chuck's absence the moment her senses roused from sleep, instinctively alarmed by the feeling of being able to move freely, without the weight of his arm and legs trapping her in a tight hold.

That unpleasant sensation forced her eyes to snap open and give her the confirm that, indeed, her husband wasn't asleep by her side. Instead of being occupied by his head, the pillow next to her had become the stand over which a note had been arranged.

Peeved and vaguely anxious, Blair shooed somnolence away with an abrupt movement; she shoved the heavy blanket and duvet off of her and turned on her side to reach out to the small ivory-colored card. Picking it up, though, the unmistakable scent of Chuck's cologne tickled at her nose and caused her lips to curl in a smile that melt a bit of her edginess when she realized that he had sprayed some of his perfume over the thick paper before setting it on the empty cushion.

" _Basstard_ ," Blair whispered to herself as, closing her eyes, she took a deep breath and inhaled the intense fragrance. He had the unique ability to irritate her and, at the same time, make her forget the reasons of her annoyance with gestures that were both so thoughtful and theatrical that never missed to please her. That bit of vanity and self-importance make each of his loving acts look exceptional and irresistibly charming to her eyes.

She let a couple of seconds pass before lowering the note to read it. Embellished by his oblique and sophisticated handwriting, the message said:

" _Good morning, beautiful. I'm afraid I forgot to tell you I had an errand to run in town. I didn't want to wake you for something as mundane as a breakfast appointment with the owner of propriety I'm interested in purchasing. I'm not sure how long it'll take. In the meantime, enjoy your morning and wait for me; I promise I'll make it up to you. Love, C._ "

As her eyes scanned the words he had so carefully selected, Blair's forehead wrinkled in a frown. Though it clarified the reasons why he had left her to wake up to an empty bed, the card still had something elusive and strange about it.

The explanation he had left her wasn't odd per se; it had happened before that, travelling together during the time they had dated, Chuck had sometimes found properties worthy of consideration. Still, as a location, Lech was definitely out of his usual area of interest when it came to real estate; he generally invested in metropolis or cities that had artistic relevance.

And even wanting to consider it an exception, it was the fact that he was conducting business at all to leave Blair struck. He shouldn't have; she knew he wasn't ready for it and she had expected him to take a full and much needed break from work all through their honeymoon. Understanding that he might had felt the responsibility to get back at it so soon filled her with concern.

Standing up, Blair folded her arms under her breast and nervously bit her lip. She had promised herself she would have granted him a period of peace and quiet and the chance to rediscover the youth the last few years and their vicissitudes had taken away from him – his passion, his talent at grasping pleasure in life, the brilliance and the eagerness of his mind –; and it seemed to her that, comforted by her uninterrupted presence, Chuck was actually happy. He looked fulfilled to her eyes.

But if something in him was already trying to escape the parenthesis of complete intimacy she had tried to lock him and herself into, then maybe she was failing; perhaps, with the intention of protecting him, she was suffocating him.

Feeling anxiety rise to her chest, Blair let out a sharp sigh and swiftly reached out to the phone on the night table. She pressed number one on speed dial with more strength than she should have used and brought the mobile to her ear, hoping that Chuck would have answered at the first ring. Though, when she heard the answering service speaking in his place, her lips pursed in distress: whatever he was doing, he had turned his phone off.

In a rush of irritation, Blair tossed the telephone onto the bed and, crossing her arms again, she stared at it for a moment, as she tried to placate the anger that was starting to overcome her with a deep breath. She couldn't tell if she was angrier at him for leaving so abruptly and making himself unreachable, or at herself for indulging, with her incapability to stop it, the constant thought creeping in the back of her mind and telling her that he wasn't going to be safe, that he wouldn't have come back to her.

Suddenly, realizing the foolishness of her thoughts, she shook her head. She was being unreasonable, she told herself strictly, as she started pacing back and forth in front of the bed. Chuck was perfectly free and capable of making his own decisions; she had to trust the fact that he wouldn't have pushed himself beyond the limit of what he could handle. He deserved her faith.

With that firm statement in mind, Blair grabbed her nightgown from the bed bench and put it on. She took her phone from the creases of the duvet where it had ended up and slipped it into the robe's pocket. She would have tried to call Chuck again later, she wondered; for now, all she had to do was remaining rational and starting her day.

* * *

Blair kept the purpose of silencing her anxiety till late in the morning; she had breakfast, treated herself with a bubble bath and classical music and then took the time to write a long and detailed email to Serena, who, just the night before, had sent her a pretty annoyed text in which she complained about the fact she hadn't heard from her since the wedding reception. When she finished typing her goodbye and the promise that she would have called her later that day, it was already half past 11.

She smiled relieved at her watch clock face. Chuck's breakfast meeting had to be over, she wondered; he was probably on his way back and had certainly tuned his phone back on.

Eager to verify her suppositions, Blair decided that it was time to try to call him again. As she had done a couple of hours before, she took her phone, pressed one on speed dial and waited to hear his voice with closed eyes and a smile on her lips.

But, against her expectations, his voice didn't reach her; yet again, her calmness was shattered by the cold sound of the answering service's message.

There was no progression in the reawakening of her fear; it hit her right away, overwhelming and devastating, as soon as she ended the call. She let the mobile fall on her lap and then on the carpet in front of the fireplace when she stood up with a jolt; all around her, the living room seemed to become smaller and smaller as the piercing sense of fright she had tried to suppress came back to tighten her throat and make it harder for her to breathe.

Suddenly, she lost all the control she had over her thoughts; they all twisted in a of blurred tangle memories and terror, making it impossible for clarity to find space in her mind.

However, Blair was left with the excruciating torment of a distinct conviction: something terrible and unrepairable had happened to Chuck; she could feel it in the burning ache spreading across her body at every desperate beat of her heart.

She brought a trembling hand to her breast and pressed her palm against her chest. Chuck had taken the helicopter to town, she realized. He had done it by himself, without her; and the last time she had been so inconsiderate to let him fly alone, he had risked to lose his life.

Tears started rolling down Blair's cheeks, copious and uncontrolled, as a shuddering, broken sob escaped her lips.

She closed her eyes, remembering how, less than a week before, she had stood before a monitor and listened paralyzed as it told her that his plane had crashed – and so had her life.

And with that recollection, others came: Chuck stumbling along the edge of a building before she had come to stop him; Chuck alone in a nameless street of Prague, bleeding out because of his stubborn decision to hold on to the ring now weighting on her finger; Chuck unconscious in a hospital bed, crushed by his attempt to take her away and save her from her wrong choices.

It had happened again, for real this time. He wouldn't have followed her back from the edge of any building and collapsed into her safe arms; he wouldn't have reappeared in Paris, he and his ring, and allowed her to take him back home; he wouldn't have woken up to fight for her.

He wouldn't have escaped that plane crash. He hadn't; it was a suggestion that, suffocated by panic, she had turned into a certainness. She hadn't been strong and attentive enough to protect him, she had lost him for good before having the chance of giving him even a piece of the happiness she wanted to fill his life with; lost him to her carelessness, to the way she hadn't been able to watch over him.

Panting, Blair crumbled down on the couch, too weak to tell herself anything that contradicted what had become true in her head, or to stop the soundless crying that made her chest spasm and forced her to grip the fabric of her nightgown in clenched fists.

For countless minutes, she didn't find the courage to move; she remained still, weeping in silence, scared to whisper his name and understand he wouldn't have answered to her feeble call. It was only when she heard the noise of the helicopter landing in front of her chalet that she raised her head, her heart pounding in her throat with furious hope and freezing fear.

The energy to stand up came back in an instant. Blair ran to the stairs and, in a few seconds, she found herself rushing into the entrance on the ground floor. The helicopter's blades had stopped spinning when she reached the French doors to look outside.

In the new silence, she rested her forehead and her palms against the cold glass and took a deep breath, trying to collect the determination to peek out; then, raising her gaze deliberately, she saw him.

Chuck was pacing up the small path leading to the house; dressed in his picture-perfect suit and coat, unaware of her heartbreak, he came towards her with an unhurried, haughty stride. He looked unblemished; safe, _alive_.

An aching joy raised to her chest and finally gave voice to her strangled crying; her sobs became loud as she frantically gripped the handle and snapped the door open. She did it so vigorously that, sliding, the glass trembled into its frame and produced a noise that forced Chuck to glance up.

He stopped at the bottom of the short stairs that separated him from the porch and looked up. As soon as his eyes met her figure, a puzzled expression appeared on his face. "Blair?" he called for her alarmed and hurried to climb the few steps in front of him.

Blair didn't answer. Her eyes widened for the split of a second at the sound of his voice, but then, realizing the concern puckering his brow and turning his skin paler, she glanced down, dazed by her violent emotions. She couldn't look at him. The moment she had watched him approach her with long, anxious steps, she had felt for him impetuous love and raging hate; and now that he was repeating her name with growing fear, she couldn't tell if she wanted to run into his arms or push him away. Overwhelmed, she stood on the doorstep in her nightgown and slippers, her arms abandoned along her sides.

Her shoulders shuddered when his hands clutched them. "Blair," he tried again, bowing his head to try to catch a glimpse of her face. His voice was low and hesitant. "Please," he pled, "you're scaring me."

Something in those words shook her. She raised her gaze on him and met his eyes for a brief moment; helpless and frightened, they locked with hers trying to decipher her behavior. All at once, Blair perceived the heat of ager flushing her cheeks in spite of the icy air. "Scare you?" she hissed, glaring at him. Chuck's frown deepened and, disoriented, he parted his lips to say something, but she didn't give him the chance to. "I'm scaring _you_?" she repeated.

Bewildered, Chuck slid his hands to her waist trying to pull her closer. "Blair, I don't understand –"

"Don't you dare touching me!" This time, her voice raised to its highest pitch. With an abrupt movement, she brought her palms to his chest and jostled him away. "You have no right!"

Yelling at him, Blair had started crying again. She suddenly felt ashamed of her reaction, and, free from his hold, she turned her back at him and at his desolated expression.

He had no right to do this to her, she told herself again. He couldn't disappear and force her to face the possibility of a life spent without him, to picture a world that didn't know his presence. He couldn't leave her alone to think he was dead; and, most of all, he had no right of making her feel dead as well at the mere idea.

When she was about to take a step back into the foyer, Chuck's arms gripped her waist from behind. His touch was more determined now as so was his voice: "Look at me," he uttered against her neck, "I need you to tell me why you're so upset."

Blair shook her head. "No," she replied faintly, already feeling herself surrendering to the warmth and the safety of his embrace. "I don't want to."

He tightened his hold, drawing her closer, and she sobbed when her back touched his chest. His heartbeat was strong against the light fabric of her robe; it made her shiver. "Please," Chuck spoke again, "I need to know."

In a moment, Blair felt completely worn-out. The grip of his arms around her hadn't stopped her tears, but they had arrested the wild racing of her heart; in spite of her attempt to fight him, being trapped in his hold had made her breaths turn back even. Fury and terror had left space for exhaustion and, tired, she stopped resisting him and allowed him to make her swirl carefully into his embrace.

It was only then that she truly allowed herself to gaze at him. Chuck's eyes were wide with dread; motionless as he stared back at her, their darkness contrasted with the panicked pallor of his skin, making him look hurt and shocked. When, gingerly, he guided a hand to her face and cupped her cheek, his fingers were steady but cold, as if he was struggling to contain a quiver.

Watching him, Blair was caught by an immediate sense of guilt. She threw her arms around his neck and clung to him, burying her face into his chest. "I'm sorry," she whimpered against his coat. She wanted to add something to that weak apology, but, breathing him in as she held on to him, she found herself unable to do anything if not avidly filling her lungs with his scent.

Chuck sucked in a deep breath, making a hand trail up her back. "Let's go back inside," he told her quietly before pressing a kiss on her shoulder. "You need to warm up."

Blair nodded, giving in to the way he had chosen to postpone his questions and take care of her first. She abandoned herself completely to his presence and let him pick her up and take her back inside. There was a loveseat in the foyer, settled in front of the fireplace, and Chuck laid her down there; he took off his coat and arranged it on her shoulders as he sat as well.

For a few seconds, Blair didn't speak. Now that she was calmer, she was starting to feel the cold chills caused by the frigid temperature running down her spine and she breathed in an out a couple of times trying to get used to the chalet's heat.

Then, unsure, she casted a glance at him. "I'm sorry," she told him once more, reaching out to his hand and squeezing it. The shadow of a relieved smile appeared on his lips at the touch and encouraged her to keep on. "I didn't mean to yell at you. I was panicking."

Chuck shook his head. "It doesn't matter," he answered quietly. "I just want to know why you were so frightened." He paused and, looking down at their united hands, he ran his fingers through hers and started stroking her palm with his thumb. Then, the faint smile still tilting up the corners of his mouth to reassure her, he locked eyes with her again and added: "There's nothing you can't tell me, Blair. I'm your husband; you need to trust me."

Blair's lips trembled at his statement, as the awareness that he deserved an explanation became stronger. In spite of the embarrassment she felt, she couldn't bring herself to avoid his gaze or let go of his hand. She had faith in him; an absolute and unconditional faith that didn't obligate her to open her heart to him, but that made her feel the need to.

Staring at the controlled concern and the displayed calmness turning his expression serious and wise, she knew she could have confessed anything to him; Chuck would have always understood her and found a way to make her feel safer.

So she nodded at him, took off his coat and, after a long sigh, she started to explain; she told him all about how scared she had felt waking up without him and what had happened to her realizing that he wouldn't have answered her calls, without giving her the chance of knowing if he had landed safely.

"I thought you were gone, Chuck," she admitted eventually. She had spoken freely till that moment, but now that she was finally talking honestly and directly about her fear of losing him, a tight lump had formed in her throat, making it difficult for her to keep on. Swallowing, she clung to his hand, her finger digging in between his as she tried to find help in that clamped contact. "No matter how hard I tried, I couldn't get rid of the feeling that you were dead."

The revelation didn't seem to surprise Chuck; his stare, immobile on her, was deep and veiled by a gloomy resignation and a pinch of guilt. He was silent for a moment. Then, delicately, he reached out to her face and, cupping her cheeks, he rubbed away the traces of her fear. "I was safe all along," he told her, caressing her chin as he uttered those words in a comforting, thoughtful tone, "I was perfectly fine."

Moving her head in a nod, Blair leaned in and rested her forehead against his. "I know now," she murmured, guiding her hand to his jaw. Her eyelids lowered for an instant as she stroked it slowly, and the hint of a sad smile rose to her lips. "I know you're safe," she repeated. "But when you're not by my side, I can't be sure you are. Fear overcomes me when I feel like I can't protect you."

Chuck sighed tensely. "I understand," he answered somberly. Trying to avoid her look, he bowed his head and turned slightly to side. "I gave you enough reasons to think I can't take care of myself."

"Chuck, no," Blair retorted immediately, sliding her fingers to his chin. She pushed it up, forcing him to glance back at her, and, when he did, she shook her head with conviction. "It's not your fault. I promise you I trust you," she swore, her eyes never leaving his as she spoke. "But no matter what, I'll always feel the need to shelter you. It's just who I am."

Searching her expression, Chuck's expression darkened. "I don't want you to live in fear," he objected gravely.

Determined not to let him sink into the blame that he was instinctively taking, Blair grasped his hand again. Once more, her lips quivered and she pursed them to fight the need to repress the words she was about to pronounce; they would have hurt him, but she knew they were necessary in order for him to understand what she truly meant. "I don't want either," she answered. "But I've realized today that having been so close to losing you changed something in me."

It was hard for her to admit it and not just because of the flash of pain that she saw glistening in Chuck's gaze at her words. It was tough because the admission she was making was more to herself than to him.

For days, she hadn't let her feelings get in the way of her need and desire to take care of him; she had tried to be a rock for him to hold on to and, to do so, she had caged her fears, trying to keep them from reach her. But they had anyways; and letting him see that there was weakness in her as well, that what had happened to him had left her wounded as well, was both relieving and frightening.

"It had happened before," she kept on, "but this was the first time I knew I couldn't have saved you. It was bigger than me," she explained. Trying to soften her statements and make her them more bearable for him, she let go of his hand to lace her arm around his waist. "Someone tried to kill you and I couldn't do a thing to prevent it."

"Someone…" Chuck whispered to himself before turning quiet. His eyes went shut and this time Blair did nothing to obligate him to look back at her, knowing he needed a moment to ponder over what she had just said. His body stiffened in her embrace and, for a few seconds, she felt as if her presence had become imperceptible to him.

It was only after a long silence that he seemed to become aware of it again and deliberately raised his arm to wrap it around her shoulders. "I'm sorry you had to go through that," he uttered hoarsely, as if the words were struggling to escape his tense lips. He tugged her into his hold, letting her rest her head over his chest. "It's never been my intention to cause you pain."

" _You_ didn't. It wasn't _you_ ," Blair insisted. "And I'll be fine," she added right after, her fingers toying mindlessly with the button of his suit's jacket. "I just need some time to let it go."

Chuck ducked his head and she felt his lips pressed against the top of his head in a delicate kiss. "I'll try to be more careful," he promised, a hint of guilt in his voice. "I really thought leaving a note was enough."

"I know, Chuck." Looking up at him, Blair smiled softly. Basking in the warmth of his company, she was finally allowing herself to relax and, with a sigh, she made her palm slip up his chest in a comforting stroke.

A quiet silence fell over them. After a while, a thought crossed Blair's mind. "How was your meeting, by the way?" she wondered, looking up at him. She had just remembered what he had mentioned in his card. "What about the propriety you wanted to purchase?"

Chuck smirked at her. "They weren't interested in selling at first," he told her, capturing a strand of her hair and twirling it around his fingers with a pleased expression. "But I managed to convince them. It's a done deal."

"You made them ' _an offer they couldn't refuse_ '?" Blair joked, shooting him an amused look. She was happy to see smugness showing on his face, for it was a small but significant sign that they could free themselves from the anxiety of the misadventure that had caught them unprepared that morning. "Typical," she commented, lifting her head from his chest. She pulled herself upright and sat by his side in a more composed position; settling herself under his arm, she smirked back at him. "After the scare you gave me," she said, "I at least demand to visit this place. It must be quite extraordinary if it made you want to leave our bed so early."

Snickering, Chuck gave her shoulder a playful squeeze. "I don't think you need to see it, Blair," he replied, a certain victorious shade in his voice.

Immediately, Blair scowled. "I _want_ to see it," she stated resolutely. "I'm already being rather patient. May I remind you that our honeymoon was supposed to an escape?" she reminded him piqued. "A business negotiation definitely breaks the purpose."

Listening to her dictatorial tone, his sly smile turned even more satisfied and oblique; he was visibly entertained by her slight irritation. "I wouldn't call it business," she uttered cryptically. "It was a matter of pleasure, actually."

" _Charles_ ," Blair raised her eyebrows at him. "I'm sure spending a ridiculous amount of money _pleased_ your ego, but you still invested in real estate. It's your field, ergo it _counts_ as business."

Suddenly, Chuck's smirk softened in an affectionate smile. He lifted his hand to her face and skimmed his thumb over her lips, making it impossible for her to keep a strict expression and to stop herself from smiling as well. "You don't need to see it," he explained as his eyes locked with hers, "because you did already. Actually, you've been living in it for the past four days."

Puzzled, Blair blinked. She grabbed his wrist, shifting his finger from her lips. "The chalet?" she exclaimed, her eyes wide with surprise.

Nodding, Chuck cupped her cheek. "I bought it for you. It is tradition for a husband to gift his bride with something for their wedding and there was no time to do back in New York. Observing you these days, I realized that you love this place; you said it yourself you wished we never had to leave it. It came to me that making it yours was the perfect way to show you my gratitude.

A moved smile had spread across Blair's face. "You've given us a shelter," she said, her voice shuddering with the joyful tears she couldn't hold back. "A place to be safe."

Staring lovingly at her, Chuck took a deep breath. "I can't give you a quiet life, Blair," he told her. He didn't look self-satisfied anymore, but determined and honest. "I don't even think you want one. But I can give you the certainty that there's somewhere we can hide when it all becomes too hard to handle."

Blair, her heart heavy with the weight of the love she felt for him, threw her arms around his neck and kissed him. "Thank you," she whispered against his lips, as his hand went to her hair to grasp it.

Their life together couldn't be like the one they had lived there during those few days, just as Chuck's utter serenity couldn't last. They were both passing states, Blair knew it, the gifts of a yearned for estrangement that had a little to do with reality.

Yet, the sadness that caught her at that thought was sweet and caring. It held the awareness that there was much more to love in Chuck than the frail contentment that refuge and her presence had granted him; and facing the fulness and the depth of what she felt for him, that gloominess blurred, leaving her with a clear sense of belonging that went beyond every ephemeral lightness.

The chalet would have always been there to welcome them and to allow her to keep him protected. It would have become their sanctuary of intimacy, the harbor to reach when the need to escape would have reached her.

Still, there was an entire world below those mountains, and she couldn't wait to see it with Chuck, starting with the next stop of their journey. She couldn't defend him from everything, but she knew she could fight every battle by his side.

* * *

 **Notes:**

 **[1]** Hello to my faithful readers. I hope you enjoyed the first chapter! It's exceptionally long and, I must admit, it was also exceptionally hard to write. As I'm sure you noticed, there's a sex scene in this chapter - one that is more explicit than the ones I usually write. I hope you enjoyed it, since it's not exactly my forte.

 **[2]** The location I chose for the first stop of Chuck and Blair's honeymoon is real! _Chalet Überhaus_ can actually be rented. All the details regarding it are accurate, except for the fact that, in truth, the chalet is far more accessible and less isolated than I pictured it here. That part belongs to my fantasy, as the background story I invented for the chalet! You'll find links to its website on my Tumblr page, along with picspams under the tag "Journey To Glory". There, you'll also find pictures of the lingerie set Blair wore in this chapter.

 **[3]** Coming to the introspective part of this character, I hope you appreciated my take on Blair. I remember one of my readers asked me to write about her fear of losing Chuck a while ago and well...it's what this chapter is about.

 **[4]** After this chapter, I'm going to work on an update to In The Realm Of The Basses. You'll have to wait a bit to see Chuck and Blair exploring Vienna, but I hope the wait will be worth it :)

 **[5]** Cigarettes After Sex, _Nothing's Gonna Hurt You Baby_

 **[6]** English is not my mother language. I'm Italian. I apologize for possible mistakes.


	4. Chapter 2 - Vienna

**First of all, I need to make a statement regarding the accusations on Ed Westwick to share my position. This account, my life on the internet in general, is dedicated to Chuck and Blair and to Chuck, especially. I'm a Chuck stan and I'm a CB shipper; I've been a fan of these characters for the past 8 years and that won't change. Characters are fictional and have nothing to do with the actors that play them and I don't feel ashamed of my passion. I'm not stopping my writing activity, or my Tumblr art: it would cause me pointless pain. That being said, as a general rule, I do not believe accusations until accusations are proved and this case makes no difference for me. If the accusation on Ed are true, his behaviour would be criminal and inexcusable. Keep up with the Chair love, guys. Chuck and Blair do not exist in this ugly world and they don't deserve the hate. Cris.**

The chapter has been ready for a few days, but I waited today to post to make Limoversary a bit more special for those who read my stories. I wanted to apologize about the long time it took me to update. This chapter has been especially hard to write: it's long and detailed and coming up with a characterization that satisfied me wasn't easy. Also, I've started university about two months ago, and I have a bit less time to dedicate to fanfictions. I'm still very much involved with Chuck and Blair, though, and I won't stop writing. Hopefully I'll be able to update _In The Real Of The Basses_ around Christmas.

* * *

 **Vienna, December 19** **th** **, 2012**

When Chuck and Blair landed in Vienna, the day after, the light rain they had left in Innsbruck had turned heavy; it poured down over the International Airport, covering it in a bleary grey curtain.

Slipping on her green and blue tartan patterned coat, Blair peeked out one of the plane's round windows and her lips pursed in a small pout. "This weather is going to ruin my hair," she complained, as, eyes narrowed, she stared at the copious drops drumming over the glass and blurring her sight of the landing strip. "I don't want to arrive at the hotel looking like a damp poodle dog."

Chuck didn't answer right away; instead, he took the time to inhale a deep breath before speaking. "We won't get wet, Blair. The flight assistant will escort us with an umbrella to the car that is most certainly waiting for us," he eventually commented in a distracted tone. In the short pause that followed that statement, she heard him tap his fingers on the armrest in a nervous gesture. "However," he kept on, "we're in no rush. We can wait for the rain to diminish a bit."

The hesitance and the barely repressed tension of his voice caused Blair to let out a sharp sigh, as she acknowledged once again his lack of enthusiasm. In spite of her attempts to brighten up his mood, Chuck had been pensive ever since they had left the chalet; all through the short flight, he had only uttered a few words – and none of them had sounded pleased. Trying to contain the bit of frustration she felt at the thought that she hadn't been able to break through the indefinite apathy that seemed to be keeping him from enjoying their arrival in the Austrian capital, she averted her gaze from the torrential rain and turned her head to look at him.

Chuck was still sitting, his legs crossed and his eyes unfocused as he stared at an imprecise spot beyond the window at his side. His coat, which the flight assistant had brought him a couple of minutes before, laid untouched on the seat next to his, folded as if he had no intention of putting it on.

As she eyed him attentively, the corners of Blair's mouth curled in tiny, gloomy smile. He was scared, she could sense it; scared at the idea of not being hidden in a secluded place anymore, scared of being exposed. Vienna wasn't a shelter and their presence there wasn't meant to be a retreat. They were there to enjoy the city, to live it: even if small, it was a step closer to reality - a threatening one to take for him. The chalet had been a refuge; it had conceded him the illusion of an utter serenity and leaving it, letting go of the comfort of isolation, had inevitably upset him.

"Do you think we should?" she asked him, leaving him the choice to answer to that vague question in the way that caused him less discomfort. Softened by a thoughtful patience, its deeper meaning had a little to do with rain and, when Chuck finally glanced back at her, Blair realized he had read through its lines correctly from the way he was only able to hold her gaze for the split of a second.

His response, however, didn't come; he consigned the shamed admission of his fear to a silence that didn't deny it or confirmed it.

Drawn by that silence, Blair moved closer to him and, resting a hand on his shoulder, she leaned forward, driving his eyes to follow her gestures and focus back on her. "Chuck, we don't have to get off this plane if you don't think it's time to," she told him softly, as her palm trailed down to his forearm in a caress. "We can go back to the chalet."

Immediately, Chuck shook his head. "I promised you a journey," he stated, as his expression darkened with a shade of unrepressed anger, "not a reclusion. We can't hide forever – we shouldn't."

Once again, Blair sighed. The irritation and the rigidity in the way he had spoken let the self-loathing he was torturing himself with show through; he couldn't forgive himself for feeling afraid and, as long as he didn't, she knew he wouldn't have given in to what he saw as a weakness. He would have never allowed himself to come back where he felt safe. "But I don't need to travel to enjoy our honeymoon," she still made another attempt to convince him, as, sliding her free arm over his shoulders, she sat down on his knees. "I just need you to be fine."

As those words came out of her lips, Chuck embraced her. He pulled her close to his chest, resting his forehead over her shoulder; he inhaled a deep breath and the, slowly, he tilted his head to side to place a kiss on the portion of her neck the coat left exposed. "I am fine, Blair," he said at last.

The statement, pronounced against her skin, reached Blair's ears as if chocked. Painfully conscious that there was no point in contradicting him with the truth that he couldn't be fine, she let him grant himself a couple of wordless seconds and, when he raised his head again to lock eyes with her again, she smiled calmly at him and conveyed her indulgence in a silent nod.

The hint of a smirk rose to Chuck's lips. "It's just rain, after all," he told her, bringing the conversation back to its original pretext with the intention to put an end to it. "I think we can face it."

Blair's eyes lingered on his face a second more searching his expression, before she guided her hands to his cheeks. "We can," she agreed, careful to give her voice a firmness that didn't match her thoughts perfectly.

Leaning in, she pressed a kiss to his lips. Exposure wasn't as harmless as rain and she knew it could have cracked his fragile balance. Yet, she also understood there was a certain wisdom in Chuck's refusal to bend before his fears: they had left for their honeymoon with the precise intent to prepare themselves for their life together and that meant there were challenges they couldn't avoid – that it was right not to avoid.

* * *

The Imperial Hotel, where Chuck and Blair would have stayed for the next three days, was located along the Ringstrasse. Once been the residence of the Prince of Württemberg, the neoclassical palatial building overlooked the Karntner Ring boulevard. As the limousine slowly pulled up to the sidewalk in front of the entrance, Blair was stuck staring at the Italian neo-Renaissance façade. Not even the torrential rain still pouring down managed to dim its beauty; illuminated by the warm lights inside, it stood out against the dark sky of that winter late afternoon in all its opulence.

The captivated twinkle glistening in his wife's eyes made the corners of Chuck's lips tilt up in a small smile, as he let his gaze follow the line of her profile. The blissful glow of Blair's face was unmistakable and its clarity relieving; it soothed the restlessness still weighting over his chest, reassuring him with the confirm that he was living up to his promise of giving her the grand honeymoon he had promised her.

His smile, however, wasn't lacking of tension. He was reluctant to get off the car. Something about the prospect of entering the lobby of a luxurious hotel struck him as oddly threatening; he felt exhausted at the mere thought, and the fact that couldn't grasp the sense of his irrational nervousness added irritation to his distress.

Chuck would have wanted to share Blair's excitement and her readiness, but, in truth, it was only looking at her charmed expression that he found a reason not to wish they were still living secluded. The joy she let show through filled his heart with the desire not only to preserve it, but to make it deeper and brighter. Though he knew she would have accepted to spend the month they had for themselves isolated, and that maybe part of her even craved quietness as much as he did, it was with strictness that he kept reminding himself that he could have never allowed the sense of oppression he felt condition or undermine the journey he had planned for them.

As they waited for the driver to come open the car door, Chuck inhaled a long breath before grasping Blair's hand and leaving his touch to lure her attention. "What do you think?" he asked. He did his best to look relaxed before her eyes; when she turned, his smile had become a proud smirk. "Is it majestic enough for your taste?"

Eyeing him, Blair slid closer to him on the leather seat; she reached out to his face and, in silence, she cupped his cheek with her palm. Her warm stare was immobile as she looked at him. It scrutinized his face deliberately, as if she was trying to read through the pleased expression he was displaying and comprehend how much distress he was trying to conceal behind it. Then, slowly, her mouth stretched in a wide, affectionate beam. "It looks like a royal palace," she answered, and bowed her head a little to skim her lips over his jaw.

Chuck's smirk sharpened with satisfaction at the touch of her soft kiss. He trapped her shoulders under his arm and squeezed her hand in his once again. "That was the idea," he told her, his fingers sliding up and down her forearm. "I seem to recall telling you our honeymoon was going to be glorious. The places I picked for us can't be any less than that."

Laughing softly at his statement, Blair looked down and shook her head. Then, raising her eyes on him again, she smiled amused at the sight of the complacent expression showing on his face. "You're such a megalomaniac person," she commented.

Her tone, so full of a tenderness despite the joke, softened his smirk. "And you love it," he replied, pulling her closer.

Blair deserved magnificence, he told himself once more as, indifferent to the car door opening, he leaned in to kiss her. He couldn't give her that while hiding. Making her feel like the proud, graceful queen he saw when he looked at her was a mission he would have never wanted to back out of, even if in that moment it meant he had to ignore the sense of fright raising to his chest and trying to force him to see that he wasn't prepared to step back into the world they were greedy to conquer together.

* * *

The lobby was as impressive as the front of the building promised. Illuminated by a series of opulent, glittering chandeliers hanging from the high ceilings, it was dressed in golden finishes and marble. On both sides of the room, the walls housed paintings of the Austrian emperors, enclosed by elaborated reliefs; raising eyes on them, guests could catch a glimpse of the first-floor balcony, which, behind a grand balustrade, overlooked the entire hall.

Crossing the entrance, Chuck took a quick peek around at the location he had so carefully selected for their stay in Vienna before resting his eyes on Blair. She was keeping a firm grip on his hand; it would have been impossible to notice for the strangers who had turned to at them, but she was leading him. Though they were walking unhurriedly side by side, it was with strength that she squeezed his palm as they paced towards the concierge desk and gently pulled him.

To Chuck, that imperceptible gesture was essential. He had given in to its subtle insistence the moment they had exited the car, when, exchanging a look with his wife, he had let her empathy catch in his secretive glance the words he didn't know how to utter. Blair had understood he was silently asking her to guide him inside in a moment, and she had accepted the task his eyes had trusted her with in the most delicate way. Grabbing his hand, a small smile of reassurance had taken shape on her lips; then, he had felt the clutch of her fingers curling around his and a slight tug, firm enough to make him move a step.

When they reached the concierge desk, Chuck was still following Blair's hold quietly, refusing to avert his gaze from her pleased and calm expression. He didn't stop looking at her as the hotel's manager welcomed them; he barely glanced up at him when he accepted to shake the man's hand and nodded distractedly as he offered to escort them to their suite.

"The Royal Suite is on the first floor," the manager told them as he guided them past the desk. "I suggest you to take the stairs rather than the lift. It's really worth seeing the staircase, if it's you're visiting the hotel for the first time."

Chuck realized immediately that Blair seemed to be intentioned to follow the advice. She was clearly in awe with the environment and, more than that, it appeared to him that she fit perfectly in it; he had the sudden impression that she belonged to the opulence of the place, to its aristocrat flair and its imperial history, and he got the further confirm that he had picked the perfect setting for their first reunification with the world. Though he couldn't wait to close their room's door behind them and give in to the need to recreate the boundless intimacy they had lived in for the past days, he wasn't going take the relish of appreciating every detail of the space surrounding them away from her.

He let go of her hand to lace his arm around her waist and, leaning over, he brushed his lips over her cheek kissing her. "I think we should do as he says," he said to her. "It must be beautiful."

Blair accepted his proposition with a wide grin, before demanding the manager to show them the way. A few seconds later, they were led at the bottom of the so called Royal staircase. The grand stairway definitely lived up to its name; well-lighted from the elaborately decorated ceiling by another splendid chandelier, it was given further majesty by the marble walls siding it and the plush crimson red carpet that ran up the steps all the way to the floor-landing.

As they slowly went up looking around, Chuck gave a gentle squeeze to his wife's hip, pulling her closer and forcing her to stop and turn her attention to him. "You look impressed," he whispered in her ear, making sure she'd catch his words over the manager's ones, who was giving them a detailed description of the hotel's long and notable past.

With a small giggle, Blair pulled back from his hold only to climb a step a settle herself in front of him. "You were right," she answered quietly as, looking down at him satisfied, she laced her arms around his neck. "I'm utterly in love with your mania of grandeur."

Chuck smirked at her reply, his arm finding its way back around her waist, and took a second more to look at her before leaning forward to let her know he wanted her to kiss him. He closed his eyes when she did, and, brushed by her lips, his smirk softened in a pleased smile. Had they been alone, he thought, he would have tugged her in his embrace, picked her up and carried her to their room as a proper bride, and it was with a tad of disappointment that, realizing the sudden silence around them, he had to remind himself that Blair was actually enjoying the small tour they were being given.

When she pulled back, he reached her on the step where she was standing and darted a glance at the manager to let him know that they were ready to go ahead and that he could keep on with his explanation.

It was then that Chuck's content smile faded. As soon as he met the manager's eyes, he couldn't help but notice that he was staring at them in a rather inappropriate way: there was no admiration or envy in his look, but, most of all, a persistent curiosity that made Chuck frown immediately. That unfortunate eye-contact lasted only an instant. The moment the man caught Chuck's glare, he promptly corrected his expression; he smiled and, bowing his head slightly, he turned and started to describe the painting waiting for them at the top of the staircase.

His eyes still narrowed, Chuck clutched Blair's waist tighter as they proceeded along the last few steps. He was once again impatient to be alone with her, to be hidden from prying glances, and he tried, with that abrupt and impulsive clutch, to deaden the feeling of discomfort come back to hound him.

With a sigh, Blair shifted her gaze from the portrayal of Franz Joseph I to eye her husband. Detecting the change of his expression, she shot him a quizzical and vaguely worried look. "Hey," she reached out to his hand rested on her side and clasped it, "what's wrong?"

Chuck hesitated. His gaze lowered to their laced fingers and, at the sight, he shook his head; he couldn't let one indiscreet look distracting him from the one thing that truly mattered: her wedding band and the reality of their marriage. "It's nothing," he said, and, pronouncing that statement, he repeated to himself that his distress was unreasonable and that, therefore, it didn't deserve her concern.

Staring at him, Blair searched his face in silence for a moment. She didn't believe him, he could tell, and when he saw her pursing her lips, Chuck knew she was making an effort to hold back the questioning words she felt the need to utter. Accepting his terse answer costed her patience and determination, and it was with relief that Chuck welcomed her pale smile.

"Come on," she told him, giving his hand a little squeeze as they reached the floor landing, "I can't wait to see our room."

Grateful for her tact and her implicit understanding, Chuck smiled back at her and tilted his head placing a kiss on her temple. Walking in a tight hug, they followed the manager along the hallway to an inlaid double door, bordered by a marble fame.

"The Royal Suite is the hotel's crown jewel," the manager said as he slid the suite's keycard into its slot. "I'm sure it'll live up to your expectations."

While the man opened the door, Chuck lowered his hand to the small of Blair's back and, darting her a satisfied look, he guided her inside. As soon as they stepped past the doorway, he found himself smirking proudly at the immediate amazement that had lighted up her face.

The door had opened onto a sumptuous living room, which, in its blaze of gold and dark royal blue, had clearly left her stunned. Just like the rest of the Royal Suite, the room was a nostalgic, splendid tribute to the grandeur of the empire Austria had once been; the regal colors graced each authentic piece of palatial style furniture in a blur of damask fabrics and framed the tall windows in heavy draperies. The silk-upholstered walls and the seven-meter high stucco decorated ceilings were given light by the same opulent chandeliers that had accompanied them since they had entered the hotel's lobby.

The suite was clearly designed to make its guests feel like the crowned heads that, over the time, had paced over the antique parquet floors and the lavish carpets, and that was exactly the reason why Chuck had chosen it: so that Blair, wandering around the chambers, would have felt like royalty.

He didn't speak as the manager showed them the bedroom, the bathrooms and the walk-in closet, and introduced them to the butler that would have been at their service during the stay. Instead, he remained in silence watching her and enjoyed the sense of reassurance her glowing face gave him and the sweet reminder that he wasn't failing her.

As they came back into the living room, Blair slowed down her steps and let her palm slither over the sleeve of Chuck's jacket in a stroke. "This place feels like a dream," she told him.

Chuck stopped pacing and locked eyes with her. There was something in her words that made him deeply happy and that, at the same time, left him unbearably tired, unable to silence the thought telling him that, in spite of his efforts, he wasn't always going to be capable of making her feel like she was living in a dream.

Yet, he forced a smile on his lips and, clutching her side tighter, he pulled her in front of him. "It isn't," he said, lacing her waist with both his arms. He squeezed her in his hold and, pushing her back against his chest, he bowed his head and pressed a kiss on the side of her neck. "It's all real."

And he would have done anything in his power, he wondered as he buried his face against her shoulder, to keep that gilded reality he had designed for the first weeks of their marriage true and unspoiled.

* * *

A couple of hours later the suite's splendor had given way to a warmer atmosphere. The grand chandeliers' lights had been turned out, leaving the appliques to illuminate the living room with their dimmer glow, and the heavy curtains closed. Mozart music played discreetly in the background, as Chuck and Blair sipped the Martinis he had prepared for them a few minutes before.

Sat on the Louis XIV sofa by the tall windows, Blair smiled at her husband, who stood in front of her in his excessively garish purple and golden silk robe. He looked more relaxed now that they were settled and alone, and she mentally congratulated herself on deciding to dine in their room.

Well aware that Chuck would have never swallowed a bit of his stubborn pride and proposed her to stay in – but equally conscious of the fact that it was what he truly wished and needed – Blair had opted for a passive tactic that had hardly ever failed with him: taking on his desire of quietness as hers, she had left him free to accept it without turning it into an intolerable fault.

Equipped with her most innocent tone and languid eyes, Blair had confessed her husband to be tired and asked him if he minded ordering room service instead of sticking with the reservation they had at the hotel's restaurant. "I really don't feel like dressing up," she had added with a sigh.

Chuck had reached out to her waist and pulled her in a hug. "As you wish," he had told her, running a finger down her cheek. "I'll call the reception and cancel."

Blair had nodded, smirking content at the way he was holding her: she had been overseeing the butler as he unpacked before coming back into the living room to talk to Chuck, and the less than thirty minutes she had spent away from his sight had already managed to tighten his embrace and turn it into a possessive clutch. It had been the relieved expression crossing his face, though, that had filled her heart with tenderness. "Thank you," she had replied, standing up on her toes to kiss him.

Unaware of the nature of her gratitude – which, more than about his clear desire to spoil her, was about the comfort she felt knowing she had the chance to take care of him –, Chuck had let her lips dwell upon his for a moment before excusing himself to go make the call.

Blair had therefore demanded the butler to set the table in the living room, which she was now starting at with plain satisfaction at the thought that she and Chuck would have soon enjoyed an intimate candlelit dinner.

"What's with that pleased smile?" Chuck's voice, veiled with interest, broke her relaxed silence and made her glance up on him again.

She shrugged. "It's a smile of appreciation for your talent as a barman," she replied without admitting the true reason of her gladness. Eyeing him, she raised her glass a little before lifting the stick to her lips and biting one of the two green olives poked at the top of it. "This is a perfect Martini, Bass: shaken, not stirred. And made with gin, as it should be."

Chuck took a step towards the sofa, a smirk curling his lips. He took a sip of his own cocktail and then commented: "Spoken like a Bond girl."

As she watched him taking a seat next to her, her eyebrows raised. "I hope not," she answered in a playfully accusing tone and darted him an eloquent look. "James has a different one in each movie. I wouldn't fall for such a voluble man."

At her statement, Chuck's mischievous smile stretched, taking an oblique shape. "You did fall for me, though," he affirmed, and his tone was tinged with obvious self-satisfaction.

Blair held back a giggle that would have surely offended his pride by taking another taste of Martini. "Your reputation doesn't give you justice," she answered, as she leaned in to place the still unfinished drink on the coffee table. She took his hand, which he had rested over her knee, and ran her finger along the wedding band he had been wearing for the past seven says. "You're not voluble," she added, smiling tenderly at the ring. "You happen to be the most faithful man I know."

Chuck's smirk softened. He put his empty glass down next to hers and then bent over towards Blair and, as he ducked his head closer to his face, he slid his palm under her nightgown, giving her thigh a delicate squeeze. "That I am," he told her. "Only a fool wouldn't be faithful to you."

The kiss he stole from her kept Blair's smile from widening. She closed her eyes, trying to relish that moment fully. It had the taste of the days they had spent at the chalet, the taste of lightness, and she clung to it as she had held on every instant of their retreat; with the awareness that such moments of peace – moments that reminded her of less scarred versions of themselves, of their juvenile love made of flirtatious glances and theatrical declarations – would have become harder to find once back home.

The sound of a knock at the door forced to part. Pulling back from Chuck at the noise, Blair heaved a long sigh of reluctance. "I think our dinner is here," she uttered lazily in a disappointed voice tone, as her eyes went open again.

Chuck reached out to her chin and rubbed it with his thumb, smirking at the saddened, childish pout pursing her bare lips. "Finish your Martini," he told her, stroking her leg as he slithered his hand back from under the satin chemise she was wearing beneath the nightgown. He stood up and took the glass she had left on the coffee table. "It would be a waste to leave it unfinished," he added with a wink when she took it, "especially after I put so much effort into preparing it."

"It would," Blair conceded and raised the crystal cup to her lips to take the last sips.

Chuck conceded himself the pleasure of darting her one last, long look before pacing away from the couch. He made his way to the door and, opening it, he allowed the waitress who had come to serve them dinner to come in with a silent nod.

As the young woman settled the serving cart by the table, Chuck walked back to his wife, who had stood up. He placed his hand on her lower back and led her to her chair; in a gallant gesture, he slid it back and waited for her to be sat before taking the seat next to her. He kept staring at her as she adjusted the coat napkin on her lap and it was only when the waitress set the plates down in front of them that he averted his gaze.

"Boiled beef served with hash browned potatoes, cream spinach, apple-horseradish-sauce and chive-sauce," the woman carefully described the dish.

While she spoke, Chuck quickly glimpsed at his plate and then raised his eyes back on Blair to try to understand from her expression if she was happy with his choice. "I took the liberty to choose for both of us," he said, motioning for the waitress to pour wine into his glass. "I hope it's okay."

Blair grinned at him. "It is," she answered. She rested her hand over the table, as if to ask him to take it, and told him: "It looks delicious."

As a pleased smile rose to his lips, Chuck cupped her hand with his, squeezing it lightly. "It's good to know my taste doesn't disappoint you."

"Has it ever?" Blair joked, the hint of a chuckle tickling her voice.

The corners of his mouth curled up at her reply, turning his satisfied smirk more vivid. He took a sip of Cabernet Sauvignon and savored it slowly before nodding at the waitress, who proceeded to fill Blair's glass. As she did so, though, Chuck realized something that caused his brow to wrinkle instinctively: just as it had happened earlier with the man who had escorted them to the suite, the waitress had shoot Blair a maliciously curious look. It had been brief, but evident enough for him to notice it.

Blair, on the other hand, didn't seem to have detected it; her face had the most serene glow and, when she picked up her glass to take a sip of red wine as well, she didn't miss the chance to glance temptingly at him.

Chuck managed to answer to that furtive look with a weak smile and then looked down to his plate. He couldn't help but wondering, acknowledging Blair's relaxed and apparently unaware demeanor, if the inquiring gazes that had seemed to be so obvious to him were, in truth, just a product of his mind. Was it the fear of disappointing Blair's expectations that made him believe that every person they had met had stared at her in disbelief in front of the fact she had married him?

And if they were actually real, how many of them had he missed while unable to give his attention to anything that wasn't his bride? How many times the eyes of strangers had scanned her and then filled with commiseration and criticism? They had run away to Europe with the intent to escape the oppressing shadow of what he had done – or of what he _hadn't_ done –, but maybe the rumors had followed them. Maybe, looking at Blair, people saw a fool who refused to see the viciousness of the man she had vowed to love forever. Maybe he had condemned her to be labeled as guilty of her misfortune. The mere idea hurt him; it infuriated him, filling his chest with a crushing sense of shame.

Lost in his brooding, Chuck let Blair dismiss the waitress and started eating in silence. He knew his wife had perceived the sudden change of his mood, but he couldn't find the nerve to look up and meet her gaze; though he felt its weight and its intensity hovering over him, he knew that giving in to it would have marked his failure. One single glance, the romantic, quiet atmosphere he had been trying to maintain all day would have shattered. Blair wouldn't have allowed him to shut her out of his thoughts any longer: she would have forced words out of his tensely pursed lips and those words wouldn't have been the joyful and blissful ones she deserved. Inevitably, they would have poisoned their idyll with gloom and bitterness.

Wordless seconds went by and turned into two entire minutes before the clink of Blair's fork against the china plate finally obliged Chuck to stop ignoring her presence; it resonated clear and sharp over the melancholic sound of clarinet piped in through the speakers and forced him to lift his eyes on her.

Her stare was piercingly and immobile. There was a hardness about it, a categorical determination that would have made him glance back down immediately in only she hadn't reached out to his arm and clasped it with such a strength that kept him from turning aside.

"Chuck, you need to tell me what's wrong," she stated firmly. Her voice hadn't lost its softness, but it was inflexible; it told him, with every resolute note, that this time she had no intention of letting the conversation go.

Chuck rested the cutlery over his plate and heaved a long sigh before replying. "It's nothing," he tried to deflect.

Blair pressed her lips in a thin line. "I've already heard this today, and I know it's not true." Her grip on his arm tightened as she clutched it again; she shook her head, taking a deep breath. "I don't want you to hide from me."

Staring at her, Chuck covered her hand with his and answered to her touch with a squeeze. "I'm not," he replied, offering her a slight smile. "It just isn't important."

Blair stared at him in silence for a moment. The sight of her gaze, now veiled by the sadness his resistance had caused, made him duck his head and lower his eyes to his lap. Immediately, he sensed her hand freeing itself from his hold and, a second later, her palm pressed against his cheek as she cupped his face. Then, he heard her utter: "Tell me. Let me decide whether it is important or not."

Trailing off, her words had shuddered with a vehemence she hadn't been able to contain, a passionate quiver that was full of love and fear, and it was catching it that Chuck convinced himself to surrender to the fact he wouldn't have been able to keep on concealing his feeling; not even if he felt humiliated, not if his attempt to give her something perfect ended up hurting her instead.

He pursed his lips and shook his head slowly. "It's the way people look at you, Blair," he eventually confessed. Still refusing to look back at her, he guided his free hand to his face. "As if they were incredulous to see you by my side," he explained after a pause, rubbing his forehead nervously. He sucked in a deep breath and, as he tentatively raised his eyes on her, he added: "As if they pitied you."

As soon as he finished speaking, Chuck saw Blair's brow wrinkling in a slight frown of confusion that revealed his admission had left him surprised. Then, ducking her head, Blair looked down and let her lips curl up in the hint of a smile.

"Oh, Chuck," she uttered his name with a small sigh, her fingertips tracing his face in a delicate stroke s she pulled back from him a little. "They do pity me, but not because I'm with you. They pity me because they can't understand what I did," she told him. A deep end of resignation had accompanied her words and, when she glanced up on him again, Chuck realized that her expression was as stoic and as calm as her tone had sounded. "We're in Europe," she added, as, with a delicate gesture, she reached out to his hand on the table and started running her thumb over its back in circles. "To these people I'm the heartless American witch who broke poor Prince Louis' heart: they're always going to stare at me that way."

Immediately Chuck felt the impulse to free his hand from the weight of hers; he did it abruptly, instinctually, as if burnt by what Blair had said and by her touch. All of sudden, his chest was heavy with an unexplainable anger and his throat tight with the effort of containing it. Her tolerant, unconcerned attitude irritated him to the point that he couldn't look at her; though he knew she had meant her words to be clear and comforting, what she had said had made the sight of her become intolerable to his eyes.

In a fit of rage, he turned his head and shut his eyes. "Of course," he hissed, and his jaw clenched with the effort of speaking. "How could I forget your royal marriage?"

His bitter, sarcastic tone made Blair exhale a long breath. The tense silence that followed pounded in his ears like a wrathful accusation: his reaction had upset her, and, perceiving it, he clenched his hand into a fist, trying to swallow the self-hatred that kept him from offering her the comfort of a look.

"You said it yourself that it doesn't matter anymore now that you're the one I'm married to," she stated after a second. The tone of her voice was flat, sharpened only by a grave note. "I'm not going to let anyone's judgement ruin these weeks," she declared with conviction, "and neither should you."

Speaking, Blair had rested her palm over his arm and Chuck gulped at the contact. The moment she had reminded him of his own words, of what he had told her only a few days before about the insignificance of her past now that they were married, his heart had started racing. He didn't know how to explain her why, all of sudden, it didn't seem so meaningless anymore; he didn't even know how to explain it to himself. "You're right," he retorted sternly. "There's no need to talk about it."

Pronouncing his reply, Chuck gave in to the need he felt to stand up and distance himself from her. He moved a few steps away from the table and found himself staring at the door. He had wished to be alone in that room with Blair all day, but now everything about what surrounded them exasperated him. It looked like every single opulent, gilded detail was there to remind him that the best he could offer her was a make-believe: a pretense of royalty when there was nothing regal about him, a façade of wedded bliss when in truth their happiness was tainted by his faults.

Anger turned into sadness as he came to understand its sense. It hadn't been jealously to enrage him and neither had been possessiveness; it had been the same fear that had accompanied him all day, the unbearable thought that, choosing him, Blair had blemished her life with the dirt of his crimes.

He closed his eyes when he heard her pushing her chair back and then her footsteps approaching him. He carved to listen to the comforting words she was about to utter, but the way he needed them, the way he was holding his breath waiting for the embrace of arms, made him feel even less worthy of their devotion and strength. When she hugged him and he sensed the pressure of her forehead laid against his back, the sigh of relief he couldn't contain caused his lips tremble.

Blair's grip tightened. "I really don't care about what people think, Chuck," she told him, her fingers clutching his robe and curling around the fabric. "I'm right where I want to be; where I've always wanted to be."

It struck him then that her voice had lost its calmness; it was brittle now, as if weakened by unshed tears, and the sound of it made Chuck's chest burn with guilt. He inhaled a deep breath and forced himself to turn in her hold and lay his gaze on her. The moment he saw her eyes glistening with the hurt he was causing her, he succumbed to the urge to pull her close.

"I'm sorry," his apology came out in a strangled, worn out whisper, as, pressing his forehead against hers with his eyes shut, he guided a hand to her head. He grasped her hair and repeated the mortified sentence louder.

He opened his eyes in time to see a tear slid down Blair's cheek. She shook her head, pushing her palm against his chest. "Please, try to let it go," she murmured.

Could he? Could he stop fearing that one day she would have looked at her life and asked herself if spending it by his side had been a mistake?

Chuck didn't dare to give himself the answer that turned his mouth dry fright. He just kept stroking her hair slowly and, breathing her in at every motion of his hand, he tried to find in her closeness the courage to confess her the thought that had raised his anger. "They do have a point, Blair," he told her at last "You were married to a prince and now you're the wife of…" he let his voice drift into a pause of silence and exhaled a sharp sigh, "…of a parricide."

Suddenly Blair gasped; he felt her body tensing up in his hold and then pulling away him in a swift movement. In an instant she was staring at him, her eyes wide with a mix of dread and wrath. "Do not call yourself that way," she said. Her statement came out as something in between an order and a plea as she once again shook her head. "You didn't —"

The end of that sentence was never pronounced. Chuck suffocated the words she was about to utter – the ones he didn't want to hear – guided by an immediate instinct: he leaned in and, tugging her into his grip, he captured her parted lips in an impulsive kiss.

Immediately, as if crazed, his hands started moving frantically up her sides and he deepened the kiss, pushing his tongue into her mouth. He had lost every bit of the control he had been trying to keep. Each gesture and touch was the impellent answer to a desperate need of numbing whatever tangle of feelings that was making his heart beat so fast he could feel it in his throat; pain, fear and anger blurred together into lust. He yearned for oblivion as much as he ached for having her, and the line between the desires became ever less clear as he shoved the nightgown down her shoulders.

Blair did nothing to resist his rush of passion at first, but then, unexpectedly, she twitched in his hold. She tilted her head back interrupting the kiss and sighed. "Chuck, please," she mumbled breathlessly, glancing up at him with a pained look. "You're not guilty."

Again, Chuck stopped her from saying anything else by covering her mouth with his; he gave her another kiss, this time barely skimming his lips over hers, and pressed her body tighter against his chest. "Don't," he begged her in a hoarse whisper as his forehead came to rest against hers once more. As if to cling to her, he bent over, his open palms shuddering over her shoulders. "Not yet."

Blair's gaze searched his face for a long moment before her eyes went shut. All of sudden she threw her arms around his neck and kissed him back with the same violent fervor that had guided him.

Her tacit, willful consent was a statement of understanding and Chuck's heart filled with relief and gratitude. In an avid, rapid movement, he slid his hands down her sides and then under her chemise. His fingers didn't waste time lingering on the hem of her panties as he usually enjoyed; instead, they grabbed the thin fabric and tore them away in one impetuous gesture.

Blair let out a moan. She clasped his hair at the contact and her teeth bit his bottom lip as she kept on kissing him. Chuck didn't feel the sharp pain in his mouth nor the metallic taste of blood; driven by the wildest desire and need, he cupped her bottom and lifted her up. Instantly her legs tangles around his waist; her mouth kept searching and finding his as he spun around and rushed his steps towards the door.

It was only when he pushed her back against the white and glided wood that she ducked her head, burying her face into his shoulder. She placed a kiss below his ear as she freed him from his robe and then, sliding her hands in between their bodies, she continued to skim her lips down his neck. At last, with a hasty gesture, she pulled down the pants of his pajama.

The sex was rough. Every motion was unrestrained and each thrust frantic with need. There was no gentleness about it; no loving words were uttered in between panting breaths and no deliberateness was conceded to pleasure. It was brief and intense and, after, neither of them moved or said anything for a while; they stayed still, Blair's legs still tangled around him and his forehead placed over the crook of his shoulder.

It was Chuck who spoke first. He guided a hand to her face and, placing his palm over her cheek, he stared at her; sweat damped her skin, making it glow, and her eyes were half closed, heavy with exhaustion. He took in a deep breath. "I'm sorry," he told her once again, though this time he wasn't sure what he was apologizing for. He felt worn out, empty, and his hands were trembling.

Blair's eyelids fluttered open. Looking back at him, the corners of her mouth curled in a soft smile. "Don't be," she told him and shook her head slowly before bowing her head to kiss his shoulder. "I love you, Chuck," she whispered in his ear after a second.

Chuck sunk his nose into her hair, breathing her in. "I love you too," he replied tiredly.

Finally, closing his eyes, he allowed himself to back in the warm feeling of her fingers running slowly through his hair. She loved him and he ended up repeating himself that the rest didn't and couldn't matter.

* * *

 **Vienna, December 20** **th** **, 2012**

It was the visceral consciousness that Chuck wasn't by her side that woke Blair up hours later. The feeling had insinuated into the dream she was having; it had creeped in the back of her mind like a gradually louder echo, till it had succeeded in bringing her back to reality.

Startled, she reached out to her sleep mask and, in a twitch, tossed it away as sat up against the headboard. Eyes wide open, she looked around the bedroom trying to find her husband. The room was almost pitch black, except for the pale morning light that had started to seep through the partially closed curtains covering the lateral windows. Standing in front of one of the two was Chuck, his back turned to her; in the dark, all Blair could catch of him was a shadowy shape, but that indistinct sight was enough to make her heave a long sigh of relief.

He hadn't gone away, she reminded herself, as she tried to swallow the sense of alarm that had tightened her throat.

 _In her dream, she and Chuck were dancing, drawing invisible circles around a crowded ballroom as they spun to the music of a minuet. Blair could sense the pressure of his hand against her side and the clutch of his fingers around her hand as he guided her steps; his lead, secure and strong, made her feel as light as feather and turned every person looking at them into blurred stains of color. Chuck was the only person she managed to see clearly; a younger Chuck, she had realized, with longer hair and a sharper smirk, dressed in a shimmering black suit. Smiling at his garish jacket, Blair had run her palm over the glittery fabric and stroked his arm._

 _It had been exactly in that moment that the dream had changed and a sensation of emptiness had started growing inside her. Suddenly the music had slowed down; grave notes had given it a melancholic rhythm and, following it, their movements had lost energy. In a moment, the packet ballroom had emptied out; it became darker at every step they took, just as Chuck's hold on her turned weaker with every unsteady twirl. When, finally, they had stopped, Blair could barely perceive his touch. Gripped by fear, she had shut her eyes and clung to him as if to keep him from vanishing._

 _But he had. Before she could realize, he had let go of her hand and his palm had slid away from her side in an almost imperceptible gesture, leaving her to find out that she had no voice to utter his name and beg him not to leave her._

Now that she was awake and calmer, Blair knew that in her vision she had danced with the last memory she had of her husband before he had lost that bit of youthful spirit he used to have as a boy to the weight of an impossibly tough life. A tortuous path of pain, of struggle and resilience, had left a heaviness in him: it was brittleness and wisdom; it was gravity and gloom, it was cynic disenchantment, but also a boundless ability to understand and forgive. In spite of his actual age, his soul seemed to own a complexity reached through a long existence,

But he _was_ young. There was a long list of things he had no true knowledge of and that Blair had promised herself she would have brought into his life; things that could bring back the passion and the fierceness that had faded bit by bit from his eyes and that now only showed in brief glimpses. They had an entire future to build together and to stud with shared joys and sorrows, with experiences and, above all, with love.

She could grant him the warmth, the shelter and also the challenges of a family; she was going to be the mother of his child one day and build a home for them – made of dear people, habits, small gestures. She could nourish his great talent with her faith in him, support his ambition, push him to thrive. It was all in her power, and that awareness, which had once been a weight and an oppressing responsibility, had now the beauty and the importance of a privilege.

She loved Chuck with every thick scar and ever bleeding wound. She saw and felt them all; she knew them and, because she understood them, she respected them and even treasured them as parts of him. A few hours before, as she surrendered to the bittersweet pleasure of his need, she had once again been faced by the certainness and the firmness of her belonging. No matter how broken he was and how permanent and crippling was damage, it was in between the sharp edges and cracks of his heart that she fitted; maybe not without effort, but still perfectly. And it was her love for his darkness – for his harsh insecurities, for his deep fragility – that, by contrast, never made her lose the sight of the fact there was more in him: there was gentleness, devotion and a crave for love – for her love – that was as powerful as his fear of not deserving it.

Blair let her eyes linger on the shadow of Chuck's barely distinct figure one second more before she moved to the side of the bed he had left empty. The sheets were still warm. He hadn't been up for long, she realized, and smiled to herself wondering that, in her sleep, she had sensed his absence immediately.

She silently pushed the duvet back and slid out of bed. She wanted to approach him, but she didn't want to startle him; he seemed to be so absorbed in his thought that she knew he wouldn't have heard the faint sound of her steps, muffled by the carpets covering the floor. So she paced up to where he was standing deliberately and, when she got close enough, she gently touched his back to let him know she was behind him.

Still, the moment her fingers brushed over his robe, his shoulders shuddered with the gasp of surprise he let out. Once again, Blair's lips stretched in a tender smile. "It's just me," she told him in a whisper, as she finally put her arms around him, hugging him from behind.

Chuck reached out to his stomach and cupped her laced hands. "I didn't mean to wake you," he replied.

His voice had an uncharacteristic flat tone; it had the resigned calmness of exhaustion and the sound of it made Blair tighten her hold on him. She rubbed her forehead against his back. "You didn't," she answered. "Your absence did."

Heaving a sigh, Chuck looked over his shoulder. "Isn't it the same?" he wondered.

Blair turned her head slightly to catch a glimpse of his profile softly illuminated by the glow of dawn before closing her eyes. "No, it isn't," she answered, as her forehead came to rest over his back once more. She placed a kiss in between his shoulders and then added: "I'd rather be woken by you than by the feeling you're not close to me. It's a dreadful sensation."

Chuck turned in her embrace. She let him capture a strand of her hair and, sighing contentedly at the delicate, reassuring touch, she waited for him to tuck it behind her ear before glancing up on him. Now that his face was so close, she could vaguely catch, despite the darkness, the hint of a smile stretching his lips and contrasting the somberness of his expression.

He brushed his fingers down her cheek. "I was close," he spoke quietly. "I just couldn't sleep. I had to get up."

Blair nodded her head. "I know," she uttered, as his arms wrapped her waist. She laid her head on the top of his chest and, for a couple of seconds, she didn't say anything.

Chuck's gestures were careful, even tentative. It was with hesitance that he ducked his head and pressed a kiss to the side of her neck; an innocent kiss, stripped of any trace of the unrestrained need he had held her with the night before. His arms didn't trap her firmly; they stayed laced around her as if unsure she wanted them to squeeze her in a tight hug. Insinuated in that wavering, Blair found the guilt he felt and, perceiving it, a lump of sadness tightened in her throat. Knowing that he thought of the way they had made love as something he had to be ashamed of caused her pain; there had been no shame in it, and it was up to her to let him see that.

Blair ran her palm up his back. "I was dreaming of you," she confessed, breaking the silence.

In another occasion, he would have smirked satisfied at that admission, full of self-satisfaction. In that moment, however, he limited himself to toy languidly with her hair that fell loose over her shoulders and shyly asked: "Was it a good dream or a bad dream?"

"It was both," Blair told him, as, with the tip of her fingers, she stroked his back tracing imaginary circles. "Being awake with you is so much better. It's real."

Slowly, Chuck pulled back from her, forcing her to raise her head from his chest and look up. Like in her dream, her hands slid to her sides and clung to them, but this time, in the moment she was actually living with him, he didn't slip away. He just bowed his head in front of her, lowering his eyes to escape even the slight sight of her gaze the dim light cutting through the darkness allowed him to see. "About last night…" he started in a low voice, "I'm —"

Before he could pronounce an apology she didn't want to listen to, Blair lifted her hand and pressed her index against his mouth, shutting him up. "Please, don't say you're sorry again," she said. "You do not get to apologize for making love to me, Chuck. Never."

He gently took her wrist, moving her finger from his lips. "It wasn't that," he answered, shaking his head. "It was something else. It was selfish."

Blair guided her hand down to his chest and clutched his robe in an abrupt, impatient movement. She couldn't stand the condemnation in his voice. "Stop it," she stated with conviction, grasping the fabric with such a strength that she could sense his skin underneath it. "It was love and it was trust; and it was beautiful for me."

Chuck remained silent for a moment. Then, letting out a sharp sigh, he pulled back from her a little. "You deserve better," he said. His voice was barely a murmur, as if the words had struggled to come out, and his hand, laid hesitantly on her hip, quivered with the tension of an unexpressed movement. He wanted to let go of her, she felt it, but he couldn't.

Blair pursed her lips, trying to contain the anger that had raised to her chest. The portray of their love that came out of his words was so false and unfair that it made her want to yell at him and scream that he had no right of turning the choices she was so proud of into the actions of a martyr, nor to dare to think she had sacrificed herself and her life by marrying him.

Still, she didn't. With a draining effort of patience, she had to remind herself that, in truth, it wasn't his trust in her that was vacillating and neither was his trust in their union. The sense of guilt that made him talk like that, she knew, was stronger than his ability to discern it and accept where it came from; shapeless and nameless, it spread like a dark stain and invaded each of his thoughts.

She couldn't brush it away; but she could do something to stop him from questioning the happiness he gave her.

Suddenly Blair parted from him. She walked past him and stopped by the window to reach out to the curtains and pull them open; she let the pale light in before turning to look at him, finally free from the limits of darkness.

When she did, she felt her constricting. The apathy of Chuck's expression was painful to look at, emphasized as it was by the strained pallor of his face; his gaze, heavy with exhaustion, seemed to be almost empty in its darkness, as he stared back at her. Blair had to stop herself from throwing her arms around his neck and force him back into her arms. It wouldn't have made a difference in that moment; the comfort of a gesture was only momentary and what he needed was to hear her out and let her bring some clarity into the self-loathe he had slipped into.

She took a deep breath and tried to collect the words she was going to utter and the firmness she would have put into pronouncing them and that would have obligated him to listen. "It's not about what you claim I deserve," she told him, her eyes immobile on him. In that short pause of silence that followed that statement, she took a step towards and placed herself in front of him again. "It's about what I want. And what I want is you: I want your best moments," she took his right hand and squeezed it before reaching out to his left with her free one, clasping it as well, "and I want your worst ones. It's what being married means."

Chuck's eyes had gone shut at her touch, desperate for a moment of rest. When he opened them again, though, Blair was relieved to see them locking with hers; he gazed at her without speaking for a second and then replied: "For better or for worse shouldn't be as hard as it is with me, Blair. Look at the situation I put you into..." his voice faded into a sigh, as, glancing down, he shook his head in a worn-out movement. "We had to get married to avoid a murder investigation and then fled to another continent."

His words had made her fingers curl tighter around his in a new surge of anger; yet, even that rebellious rush surrendered to the sadness hearing him so resigned and regretful caused her. Blair let go of his hand and reached out to his chin, lifting his head enough to bring him to look up. "You didn't force me to marry you, Chuck," she declared when she met his gaze again. The statement came out shaky with emotion and she paused to catch her breath. As she fought to hold back the tears piercing in her eyes, she slid her palm to his cheek, cupping his face. "No one did," she kept on. "I didn't do it out of necessity or out of pity. I married you because I love you and because I want to grow old you. Didn't you marry me for the same reasons?"

Suddenly, Chuck frowned. Looking back at her, he seemed surprised and somewhat hurt by the question. "Of course I did," he replied right away.

At the play of emotions now showing on his face, that her small provocation had aroused, a thin smile rose to Blair's lips. Stroking the side of his face, she said: "I'm well aware our life isn't going to be easy. But then again, all the best thing take effort."

Again, it took Chuck a few seconds to reply. He squeezed her hand before speaking, as his free one clutched her side. "But I can't fail at making you happy," he told her in a whisper.

"Then don't try to decide what I can and I can't take," Blair answered. The touch of her fingers on his jaw was slow and gentle, but her voice was now steady and calm in its determination. "Don't put me on a pedestal. It's not where I belong. I belong by your side, whatever that implies; it's where I feel the strongest and the most powerful. And it's the only place where I can truly be happy."

His stunned expression made her smile by instinct. She had sworn unconditional love to him before, more than once, and the fact that, in spite of the many confirms, her vow never ceased to surprise him gave her a tender, affectionate feeling of melancholy. In the subtle sadness of her smile was the awareness that it wouldn't have been the last time she repeated those brave words. In every future scenario she could picture, Chuck needed to hear them again and again.

Eventually, the only answer he managed to give her didn't come through his voice. He stared at her for a long moment, his eyes wide open with astonishment, and then, in an unsure movement, he clumsily pulled her closer. He kissed her temple and bowed his head to sink his nose into her hair, breathing her in.

At the touch of his lips, Blair's smile trembled with emotion, as she let a tear roll down her cheek. She could feel the gratitude in his gesture as clearly as she had sensed his fear and the weight of his guilt; it was sincere and deep as his breaths while, wrapping his arms around her, her held her close to his chest. She closed her eyes and, embracing him as well, she told herself she would have never stopped reminding him that her love for him was absolute, categorial as the choice she had made when she had accepted to marry him.

* * *

 **Vienna, December 22** **nd** **, 2012**

The following two days went by more serenely. Chuck and Blair enjoyed the city at their pace; strolls along a snow-clad Ringstrasse to admire the beautiful palaces overlooking the boulevard and concerts attended at the Musikverein were spaced out by hours spent alone in their suite and intimate meals consumed in reserved rooms of the restaurants they selected. It was all done with a leisureliness and calmness that normally didn't belong to their habits, but that inevitably ended up marking their short stay; they drank hot Viennese coffee in traditional cafés, relished in the atmosphere of the old imperial side of Vienna and took the time to listen to classical music in silence, exchanging glances over chocolate desserts.

It was a pleasant, reassuring compromise between need and desire, that Chuck accepted by allowing himself to rely on Blair's ability to understand his limits. At some point in the future, he promised himself, he would have brought her back there and made sure to give her a full experience of the city, but for those days he let her decide that dancing to waltz in their suite was as magical as doing it in a fancy ball room.

On the last day of their stay, Chuck and Blair visited the Klimt collection at the Upper Belvedere Museum. They had spent the morning shopping all around the Goldenes Quartier and, when they crossed the door to the room dedicated Klimt's portrays, they were dressed in the coordinate clothes they had purchased a few hours before.

"Don't you adore _'The Kiss'_?" Blair wondered with a sigh as they stopped before the painting, which stood in isolation on a stark, black wall.

Chuck, who had visited the museum before and was more enchanted by the glistening of her eyes as she gazed at the golden details of the figures with a dreamy expression, tightened his hold around her waist and pulled her a bit closer. He reached out to her hair with his free hand and tucked a strand behind her ear, as, leaning in, he whispered: "Not as much as I adore kissing you."

Blair rolled her eyes, though her lips stretched in a smile. She turned her head slightly to eye him. "Is sex really all you can think about?"

Chuck snorted. "Can you honestly tell me aren't you thinking about it too?" he retorted in a low voice. He shot a glance at _The Kiss_ before looking back at her again. "You're staring at two lovers covered in gold and stylized sexual symbols." He raised his eyebrows at her. "I would be surprised if sex wasn't the first thing on your mind right now."

His smirk sharpened when he saw her cheeks blush. He watched pleased as she inhaled a deep breath, trying to stop herself from biting her bottom lip in embarrassment. "Chuck, the painting is about intimacy," she stated, giving him a resolute look, "and love."

Again, Chuck smiled slyly before ducking his head closer to her ear. "And mutual desire," he went on, making sure to speak so quietly that only she could hear him. He brushed his lips under her lobe and, when he was about to place a kiss on the side of her neck, he said: "It's about a fusion: of symbols," he moved his mouth to her jaw, "of bodies…"

His intention was to reach her lips by pronouncing the word _souls_ , but Blair kissed him before he had the time to utter anything. She shoved her hand into his hair and grasped the strands as she pushed her tongue into his mouth, deepening the kiss. She only parted from him when she was breathless.

A smile, a barely hinted smile that had something naughty about it, tilted up the corners of her lips, making Chuck smirk again. The few people in the room with them were doing their best not to stare at them but, now that she had given in to her instinct, Blair didn't seem to mind anymore.

He squeezed her waist as she guided her hand to his head and fixed his hair. "You know what that smile reminds me of?" he asked her.

Blair, now running her palms over his chest to smooth his jacket, looked up and eyed him with curiosity. "Enlighten me, Bass."

Chuck nodded his head towards a point behind her back. When she turned to see what her husband was talking about, her eyes found a smaller painting on the wall at their side. It was _Judith I_.

Blair's eyebrows furrowed in a frown. "Judith?" she wondered confused, glancing at him over her shoulder.

"Yes," he replied, as he settled himself next to her. "She's a fierce queen," he explained, pointing at the woman portrayed with a wave of his hand. "She has just seduced and beheaded a man and yet she looks proud."

Blair was silent for a couple of seconds. Then, taking a step closer to the wall, she commented: "She does seem pleased holding Holofernes' head."

"She is," Chuck replied, wrapping his arm back around her. He averted his eyes from the painting to lay them on her and, as his gaze lingered over her profile, he kept on: "That's why she's so sensual; because she's aware of her power. She won't do anything to hide it."

"Why does it make you think of me?" Blair asked after another pause. She had turned her head as well from _Judith_ and she was now staring at him.

Chuck brought his free hand to her face and stroked her cheek with his finger. "Because of what you said the other night about not wanting to be put on a pedestal," he told her, as his expression grew more serious. "Because of the bravery of your decisions. I am, after all, one of those choices."

A different smile stretched Blair's lips at his words; a calm one, tinged with a pale touch of wisdom. "I told you," she said, "it's with you that I truly feel powerful. I was a princess on a pedestal for a while and I hated every minute of it. Having to win people's approval, having to be kind and approachable..." letting out a sigh, she shook her head. "It was exhausting, Chuck. It was like living in a cage. But with you I can always be who I am."

"You're a queen," Chuck concluded. He held her tighter, turning her in his embrace so that he could face her and catch the beauty of her expression fully: she looked proud and fierce as the Judith in the painting. "You'll never have to worry about being affable. You'll rule over our world with the admiration and the fear you inspire; higher than anybody else, unreachable. I promise you."

It wasn't what people would have called a promise of love, but it was for them. When Blair kissed Chuck again, she couldn't help but thinking that life spent with him was going to be a blaze of glory, even just for the fact that it was going to be built on the certainness that he was the only one capable of understanding her completely – and wanting her with no exceptions.

* * *

 **Notes:**

 **[1]** Locations, outfits, food ecc all exist. I'm trying to be as realistic as possible. As usual, you find all the details on my Tumblr blog, under the tag Journey To Glory. Feel free to contact me in you have any questions regarding the story or the chapter.

 **[2]** I suggest you to take a look at the two paintings I mentioned (Judith I and The Kiss, by Klimt) if you don't know them. They're breathtaking!

 **[3]** Again, thanks to my dear Daphne for her support.


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